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AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


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This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE 


200Z 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By  H.  DE  BALZAC 


PHILOSOPHICAL  STUDIES 


LOUIS  LAMBERT 

WITH 

FACINO  CANE 

AND 

GAMBARA 


BALZAC'S  NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 


Already  Published: 
PEEE  GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE    DE  LAWGEAIS. 
RISE    AND    FALL    OF    CESAR  BIROT- 
TEAU. 

EUGENIE  GRANDET. 

COUSIN  PONS. 

THE    COUNTRY  DOCTOR. 

THE    TWO  BROTHERS. 

THE  ALKAHEST. 

MODESTE  MIGNON. 

THE  MAGIC  SKIN  (Peau  de  Chagrin). 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC 


TRANSLATED  BY 

KATHARINE   PRESCOTT  WORMELEY 


LOUIS  LAMBERT 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY 

GEORGE   FREDERIC  PARSONS 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS 

3    SOMERSET  STREET 

BOSTON 

1889 


Copyright,  1888, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


Wtnibmitz  $«ss: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction  . 
Louis  Lambert 
Facino  Cane  . 

GrAMBARA  . 


1 

153 
175 


B  ML  xW 


r 


INTRODUCTION. 


"  Louis  Lambert"  was  written  at  the  Chateau  of 
Sache,  near  Tours,  in  1832.  Balzac  labored  hard 
upon  it,  and  in  his  letters  to  his  sister,  Madame  Laure 
Surville,  he  repeatedly  alludes  to  the  trouble  it  occa- 
sioned him.  In  one  of  these  letters  he  says  :  " '  Louis 
Lambert '  has  cost  me  such  labors !  I  have  been 
obliged  to  read  so  many  books  to  write  this  one. 
Some  day  perhaps  it  will  direct  science  into  new  chan- 
nels. If  I  had  made  of  it  a  purely  scientific  work  it 
would  have  attracted  the  attention  of  thinkers,  who  now 
will  not  cast  their  eyes  over  it.  But  if  chance  some 
day  puts  4  Louis  Lambert '  in  their  hands,  perhaps  they 
will  speak  of  it."  And  again  he  frankly  records  his 
opinion,  "  I  believe  that  4  Louis  Lambert'  is  a  fine 
book."  In  what  follows  it  is  possible  to  discover  Bal- 
zac's answer  to  some  sisterly  expression  of  disapproval, 
derived  from  a  suspicion  that  in  describing  the  sad  end 
of  Louis  Lambert  the  author  was  influenced  by  personal 
forebodings.  "  Why,"  he  says,  "  harp  upon  the  ter- 
mination? You  know  why  I  chose  that  ending.  You 
are  always  afraid.  That  conclusion  accords  with  prob- 
ability, and  but  too  many  sad  examples  justify  it.  Has 


viii 


Introduction, 


not  the  doctor  said  that  madness  is  always  at  the  door 
of  great  intellects  which  are  overworked  ?  "  Madame 
Surville  cites  this  letter  in  her  memoir  of  her  brother, 
but  offers  no  explanation  of  the  allusions  it  contains. 
She  does  indeed  observe  that  ' 'In  'Louis  Lambert,' 
my  brother,  in  order  to  obtain  a  hearing  for  certain 
ideas  which  were  not  yet  accepted  by  the  world,  be- 
lieved it  necessary  to  put  them  forward  under  the  safe- 
guard of  (simulated)  insanity."  The  good  lady  did  not 
herself  understand  the  philosophy  of  "  Louis  Lambert/' 
though  she  entertained  the  profoundest  respect  for  it ; 
and  she  naively  reveals  her  preference  for  less  exalted 
and  difficult  subjects  in  observing,  as  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  after  speaking  of  Louis's  speculations,  "  Bat  let 
us  return  to  the  realities  of  life,"  —  and  thereupon  quot- 
ing with  pride  one  of  Balzac's  political  predictions. 

When  "Louis  Lambert"  was  first  published  it  was 
received  by  the  critics  generally  far  more  appreciatively 
than  could  have  been  expected.  Indeed  it  is  nothing 
less  than  surprising  that  such  a  book  should  have  been 
read  at  all  at  that  time,  and  especially  remarkable  that 
the  really  interesting  points  in  it  should  then  have  been 
even  dimly  perceived.  Sainte-Beuve,  the  dry  light  of 
w^hose  intellect  had  no  affinities  with  psychical  theories 
of  any  kind,  sneered  at  Balzac's  mysticism  and  con- 
temned his  philosophy  as  altogether  too  heterodox  to 
deserve  serious  consideration.  It  was  not  possible  for 
Sainte-Beuve  to  comprehend  Balzac,  however,  even  had 
he  been  willing  to  make  the  attempt,  and  it  would  have 
been  perfectly  natural  in  the  circumstances  had  "  Louis 


Introduction. 


ix 


Lambert "  been  rejected  by  the  French  critics  generally, 
as  dull,  stupid,  or  extravagant.  Owing  possibly  to  the 
force  of  the  conviction  that  Balzac  was  not  altogether 
I  as  other  men,  and  in  part  to  the  reputation  which  he 
had  already  established,  the  verdict  of  literary  circles 
was  favorable,  and  the  book  obtained  a  considerable 
circulation,  though  it  never  could  have  interested  the 
general  reader  as  the  same  author's  social  studies  did. 

To  understand  u  Louis  Lambert "  thoroughly  it  is. 
necessary  to  bear  in  mind  its  relation  to  the  scheme  of 
the  "Comedie  Humaine,"  regarded  as  a  synchronous 
work.  Taine,  though  fundamentally  as  materialist  as 
Sainte-Beuve,  has  concluded  a  by  no  means  adequate 
or  sympathetic  critique  of  Balzac's  philosophical  studies 
with  an  observation  which  is  not  less  shrewd  than 
apposite.  He  says  that  those  who  object  to  "Louis 
Lambert"  and  "  Seraphita"  "  ought  to  perceive  that 
these  works  crown  an  enterprise  as  a  flower  crowns  a 
plant ;  that  in  them  the  author's  genius  finds  its  com- 
plete expression  and  final  bloom  ;  that  his  other  books 
prepare  for,  explain,  presuppose,  and  justify  them." 
This  is  true.  Balzac  undertook  to  describe  the  society 
of  his  time  from  centre  to  circumference,  from  bottom 
to  top.  His  vast  plan  involved  the  photographing,  the 
analysis,  the  classification,  of  every  social  element.  He 
aimed  at  recording  the  complex  interplay  of  emotions, 
passions,  master  motives,  conflicting  interests,  as  set 
forth  in  the  life  of  all  kinds  and  conditions  of  men.  To 
have  excluded  from  such  a  plan  the  abnormalities  of 
modern  society  would  have  been  to  admit  an  unwar- 


X 


Introduction. 


rentable  limitation  to  the  work.  In  exhibiting  the 
debasing  effects  of  sordid  selfishness,  Balzac  hesitated 
at  no  inquiry.  He  was  equally  bound  by  the  law  of 
his  own  genius  to  carry  the  inquest  upward,  and  to 
show  the  results  of  excessive  cerebral  activity  upon  a 
physical  constitution  too  feeble  to  withstand  the  pres- 
sure of  thought. 

In  »  Louis  Lambert"  we  have  this  peculiar  study,  and 
the  interest  of  it  is  deepened  by  the  knowledge  that 
much  autobiographical  matter  enters  into  the  book.  The 
episode  of  the  confiscation  of  the  "Treatise  on  the  Will" 
by  a  narrow-minded  professor  at  the  College  of  Venclome 
is  taken  directly  from  Balzac's  own  experience.  He  was 
the  author  of  the  treatise,  and  he  no  doubt  describes  his 
own  sufferings  and  predilections  in  recounting  the  trials 
and  punishments  of  "  The  Poet  and  Pythagoras."  The 
frail  physique  given  to  Louis,  though  evidently  from  the 
beginning  a  fatal  hindrance  to  the  full  development  of 
that  rare  and  delicate  spirit,  was  indispensable  to  the 
accomplishment  of  the  literary  purpose  involved.  The 
union  of  beneficent  intelligence  with  physical  robustness 
is  exhibited  in  M.  Benassis  ("The  Country  Doctor"). 
The  wreck  of  strong  intellect  through  the  pursuit  of  a 
fallacy  is  shown  in  Balthazar  Claes  ("The  Alkahest"). 
4i  Louis  Lambert"  is  intended  to  display  the  working  of 
a  pure  and  powerful  mind  in  a  body  at  once  too  weak 
to  pull  the  spirit  down  to  earthly  pursuits,  and  incapable 
of  sustaining  the  drafts  made  by  the  brain  upon  the  gen- 
eral vitality.  Under  these  conditions  that  happens 
which  might  be  expected.     The  youth  passes  the  thin 


Introduction, 


xi 


partition  which  divides  the  bounds  between  genius  and 
madness.  Yet  it  is  to  be  observed  that  Balzac  main- 
tains a  certain  reserve  on  the  point  of  Louis's  madness. 
The  biographer,  who  visits  him  when  he  is  under  the 
care  of  the  devoted  Pauline,  does  not  feel  altogether  cer- 
tain that  his  friend  is  truly  insane.  He  even  asks  him- 
self whether  the  condition  of  chronic  ecstasy  in  which 
the  patient  seems  withdrawn  may  not  be  the  consequence 
of  an  illumination  so  much  higher  than  that  vouchsafed 
mankind  at  large  as  to  transcend  expression,  —  to  sepa- 
rate the  recipient  from  intellectual  contact  with  his  fellows 
by  revealing  to  his  inner  sense  untranslatable  things. 
Pauline  herself  refuses  to  the  last  to  admit  the  madness 
of  her  lover.  In  these  two  circumstances  there  is  a  dis- 
tinct if  not  an  obvious  meaning.  In  writing  u  Louis 
Lambert"  Balzac  had  a  dual  purpose.  The  first  has 
been  outlined  alreacty.  The  second  was  the  embodiment 
in  this  book  of  certain  views  and  speculations  which 
were  the  result  of  wide  reading  in  little  explored  fields, 
combined  with  the  expression  of  that  philosophy  of  life 
which  belonged  to  the  character  of  his  own  genius. 
Taine  perceived  this,  though  he  was  far  from  grasping 
the  full  significance  of  the  facts.  Balzac,  observes  this 
writer,  was  no  sceptic,  either  by  nature  or  profession. 
u  His  nature  and  his  calling  compelled  him  to  imagine 
and  to  believe ;  for  the  observation  of  the  novelist  is 
nothing  but  divination.  He  did  not  perceive  sentiments 
as  the  anatomist  perceives  fibres  ;  he  divined  them  from 
the  gesture,  the  physiognonvy,  the  habits,  the  abode,  — 
and  so  rapidly  that  he  seemed  to  grasp  them,  and  was 


xii 


Introduction. 


unable  to  distinguish  direct  and  certain  knowledge  from 
this  indirect  and  dubious  knowledge.  His  instrument 
was  Intuition,  that  dangerous  and  superior  faculty  by 
which  man  imagines  or  discovers  in  an  isolated  fact  all 
the  possibilities  of  which  it  is  capable  ;  a  kind  of  second- 
sight  proper  to  prophets  and  somnambules,  who  some- 
times find  the  true,  who  often  find  the  false,  and  who 
commonly  attain  only  verisimilitude.  •  Balzac  employed 
it  in  the  sciences,"  —  which  M.  Taine  of  course  thinks 
deplorable.  To  the  readers  of  this  translation,  however, 
the  peculiaritj7  which  M.  Taine  regards  as  unscientific 
and  disastrous  to  the  value  and  usefulness  of  Balzac's 
speculations  may  perhaps  prove  an  additional  source  of 
interest,  if  only  because  few  things  can  be  more  deserv- 
ing of  careful  studjr  than  the  efforts  of  great  men  to 
deduce  from  observation  of  their  own  intelligence  an- 
swers to  those  deep  problems  which  have  up  to  the  pres- 
ent time  baffled  Science  and  Philosophy  equally.  As 
preliminary  to  a  candid  examination  of  these  views, 
moreover,  it  is  well  to  recall  a  fact  usually  overlooked, 
namely,  that  when  objections  are  raised  against  what  are 
called  unverifiable  assumptions,  such  objections  apply 
not  only  to  the  intuitional  methods  of  research,  but  to 
many  of  the  fundamental  concepts  of  physical  science. 
In  fact  we  should  have  no  coherent  cosmology  were  the 
use  of  the  scientific  imagination  excluded.  Every  theory 
of  the  universe  advanced  by  science  demands  the  accept- 
ance of  postulates  which  are  in  most  instances  figments 
of  the  imagination,  and  some  of  which  go  counter  to  one 
of  the  primal  laws  of  all  scientific  research,  in  positing 


Introduction. 


xiii 


conditions  wholly  foreign  to  experience.  Of  such  is  the 
atomic  theor}T,  which  assumes  the  existence,  as  the  base 
of  matter,  of  a  body  possessing  properties  the  like  of 
which  no  body  known  to  human  percipience  is  endowed 
with.  Thus  the  atom  of  science  is  absolutely  solid  and 
absolutely  impenetrable,  yet  so  far  as  is  known  there 
are  no  absolutely  solid  and  absolutely  impenetrable 
bodies  in  nature.  The  theory  of  atomic  vibrations  is 
another  case  in  point,  involving  as  it  does  conceptions 
as  to  the  rapidity  of  motion  and  frequenc}^  of  contact 
between  molecules  (each  molecule  containing  at  least 
two  atoms)  which  are  literally  unthinkable.  We  are 
asked  to  realize,  for  example,  that  a  hydrogen  molecule 
collides  with  its  fellows  some  seventeen  thousand  million 
times  eve^  second,  while  the  collisions  of  an  oxygen 
molecule  are  seven  thousand  million  per  second.  The 
habit  of  accepting  whatever  comes  to  us  with  the  en- 
dorsement of  Science  causes  men  to  think  they  compre- 
hend such  statements,  whereas  in  truth  no  story  of  a 
miracle  can  possibly  be  harder  to  grasp  by  the  reason 
alone. .  Science  not  only  employs  the  imagination  freely, 
but  requires  from  its  votaries  a  constant  exercise  of 
faith.  So  questionable,  also,  are  many  of  the  assump- 
tions upon  which  elaborate  physical  theories  have  been 
erected,  that  in  a  sharp  and  strongly-sustained  critique 
of  "The  Concepts  and  Theories  of  Modern  Physics," 
Judge  J.  B.  Stallo  not  long  since  held  himself  jus- 
tified in  charging  Spencer,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Tait, 
Stewart,  Maxwell,  and  other  representative  men  of 
science,  with  clinging  to  fallacies  and  fancies  whose 


xiv 


Introduction. 


origin  was  to  be  traced  to  the  metaphysics  of  the 
Schoolmen. 

Nor  must  it  be  forgotten  that  in  some  important  direc- 
tions the  possibilities  of  physical  research  are  bounded 
in  such  a  manner  that  it  is  idle  to  expect  much  further 
advance.  When  investigation  is  stopped,  not  by  the 
imperfection  of  the  mechanical  instruments  empkyyed, 
but  by  the  imperfections  of  the  human  organs,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  those  of  the  natural  forces  or  agencies  under 
examination,  on  the  other,  it  is  clear  that  little  hope  of 
overcoming  these  obstacles  can  be  entertained.  Now 
this  limit  has  already  been  reached  in  the  stud}'  of  Light. 
We  know  that  the  oscillations  which  produce  upon  our 
vision  the  effect  of  the  violet  ray  in  the  spectrum  are 
the  swiftest  of  all,  the  ware-motion  being  estimated  at 
699,000,000,000,000  per  second.  Beyond  the  violet 
ray  all  is  dark  to  us,  — but  not  because  it  really  is  dark  ; 
the  reason  it  appears  dark  is  that  at  this  point  our  e}'es 
become  incapable  of  apprehending  the  velocity  of  the 
oscillations.  If  our  vision  were  stronger  we  could  discern 
other  rays  be}'ond  the  violet.  In  fact,  we  can  make  in- 
struments capable  of  better  work  than  the  imperfection 
of  the  natural  forces^renders  it  possible  to  accomplish. 
The  microscope  has  been  carried  to  such  a  pitch  of  per- 
fection that  it  could  investigate  things  now  beyond  the 
reach  of  science,  were  it  not  that  the  light  is  too  t$  coarse  " 
as  microscopists  phrase  it,  and  human  eyes  are  too  dull. 
The  light  itself  in  these  cases  becomes  a  hindrance  to 
clear  vision.  Nor  is  it  only  the  dulness  of  our  sight 
which  obstructs  research  and  limits  knowledge.  There 


Introduction. 


xv 


are  sounds  so  shrill  that  the  tympanum  cannot  register 
them.  The  sound-waves,  like  the  light- waves,  move  too 
rapidly  to  be  caught.  There  are  many  persons  who- 
cannot  hear  the  piercing  chirp  of  the  cricket.  To  them 
this  high  note  is  complete  silence. 

Thus  the  progress  of  science  should  not  be  conceived 
as  from  certainty  to  certain tjT,  but  rather  from  complete 
ignorance  to  conjecture,  and  thence  to  relative  and  often 
dubious  knowledge.  In  physics,  however,  one  fact  de- 
serves to  be  noted  with  emphasis.  Modern  research 
tends  more  and  more  toward  the  conclusion  that  the 
universe  is  composed  of  a  single  substance.  The  unity 
of  nature  has  been  rendered  more  probable  by  every 
important  physical  discovery  made  during  the  past  cen- 
tuiy.  It  is  a  theory  which  cannot  indeed  be  claimed  by 
air^  modern.  To  these  we  owe  the  mechanical  doctrine 
of  heat,  that  of  the  conservation  of  energy,  the  kinetic 
theory  of  gases,  and  other  discoveries  which  afford 
strong  support  to  the  later  cosmical  scheme.  But  the 
vortical  theory  of  the  universe  may  be  traced  back  at 
least  five  centuries  before  the  Christian  era,  to  Anaxi- 
mander,  and  strong  claims  are  made  for  even  an  earlier 
and  perhaps  an  Aryan  origin  for  the  doctrine.  We  shall 
see,  when  we  come  to  examine  Balzac's  speculations, 
the  curiously  close  relation  between  the  latest  conclu- 
sions of  modern  science  and  the  central  concepts  of  a 
philosophy  which  has  much  in  common  with  those  archaic 
and  mystical  views,  the  study  of  which  commends  itself 
more  and  more  to  a  generation  educated  to  resent  and 
suspect  dogmatism  wherever  encountered,  and  equally 


xvi 


Introduction. 


disinclined  to  accept  imposed  authority  the  credentials 
of  which  are  not  beyond  doubt.  The  relativity  of  all 
knowledge  having  been  taught  to  some  purpose,  and 
the  Western  mind  having  been  opened  to  the  study  of 
those  Oriental  philosophies  and  psychologies,  which  chal- 
lenge interest  by  the  very  strangeness  of  their  processes 
and  points  of  view,  it  has  become  possible  to  deal  seri- 
ously with  that  introspective  analysis,  which  for  so  long 
and  barren  a  period  was  condemned  as  delusive  and 
unprofitable,  chiefly  because  the  cultivation  of  psychic 
faculties  was  unknown  in  the  Western  world,  though 
the  work  done  by  those  faculties  was  recognized  and 
admired  in  a  blind  and  unintelligent  fashion. 

We  see  in  M.  Taine's  characterization  of  Intuition  as 
a  "  superior  but  dangerous  faculty"  a  distinct  echo 
of  the  intellectual  stage  referred  to.  The  superiority  of 
Intuition  as  shown  in  its  instantaneous  cognition  of 
truths  which  the  reason  can  arrive  at  only  by  length- 
ened and  circuitous  processes,  M.  Taine  clearly  consid- 
ers incontestable.  That  he  should  think  the  faculty 
dangerous  —  that  is  to  say,  liable  to  mislead  those  who 
possess  it  —  must  be  attributed  to  his  own  fallacious 
dependence  upon  a  rational  infallibility  which  has  no 
existence.  The  truth  is  that  the  moment  we  enter  upon 
an  examination  of  the  various  agencies  of  knowledge  at 
the  disposal  of  humanity  we  discover  that  in  the  first 
place  no  criterion  of  truth  is  attainable  ;  and  in  the 
second  place,  that  the  mental  processes  which  can  be 
traced  throughout  are  not  demonstrably  more  trust- 
worthy or  accurate  than  those  conclusions  which  seem 


Introduction. 


xvii 


to  follow  upon  no  premises,  but  rather  to  be  projected 
into  the  mind  from  without.  To  these  latter  thoughts 
the  names  Inspiration  and  Intuition  have  been  given. 
Curiously  enough,  a  degree  of  confidence  has  usually 
been  accorded  the  issues  grouped  under  the  first  name, 
superior  to  that  allowed  the  products  classified  as  intui- 
tional ;  though  the  mode  of  reception  and  the  absence 
of  definite  knowledge  concerning  the  source  are  the 
same  in  both  cases,  and  the  processes  are  in  fact  iden- 
tical. In  u  Louis  Lambert,"  however,  we  are  to  deal 
with  more  than  Intuition.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  Balzac  originated  the  scheme  of  thought  here  un- 
folded. He  had  assimilated  a  mass  of  occult  and  mys- 
tical doctrine.  He  had  mastered  the  little  that  was 
then  known  to  the  West  of  the  philosophy  and  psy- 
chology of  India.  He  had  absorbed  Swedenborg  and 
Jacob  Boehme  and  Saint  Martin.  He  had  studied 
Plotinus  and  Paracelsus,  Raymond  Lully,  Picus  de 
Mirandola,  Cornelius  Agrippa,  John  Reuchlin.  He 
was  familiar  with  the  great  work  ascribed  to  the  Rabbi 
Simon  Ben  Jochai.  The  philosophy  of  Hermes  Tris- 
megistus  was  not  unknown  to  him,  and  he  had  experi- 
mented personally  in  mesmerism.  It  was  natural,  it 
was  even  inevitable,  that  the  literature  of  mysticism 
should  appeal  powerfully  to  him,  for  he  lived  in  a  world 
which  was  far  more  spiritual  than  material ;  and  more- 
over the  reality,  the  objectivity,  of  his  spiritual  concep- 
tions was  so  complete  that  his  work  more  resembled 
that  of  an  art-student  drawing  from  life,  or  that  of  a 
reporter  taking  notes  in  a  crowd,  than  the  commonly 


xviii 


Introduction, 


received  impression  of  an  author  laboriously  building 
up  visions  which  he  then  proceeds  to  describe.  To  him 
the  creations  of  his  thought  were  as  genuine  entities  as 
the  men  and  women  he  saw  about  him  ;  and  being  thus 
gifted  with  abnormal  power  of  vivifying  his  ideas,  it  was 
a  necessary  consequence  that  he  should  regard  Thought 
as  a  great  natural  force.  Not  that  the  experience  of  Bal- 
zac in  this  regard  is  to  be  considered  as  extraordinary, 
save  in  degree.  Imagination  —  the  faculty  whereby  we 
image  things  —  is  common  to  all,  and  the  reality  of  its 
processes  is  attested  b}'  universal  experience.  To  the 
majority  this  faculty  brings  only  imperfect,  blurred,  and 
feeble  pictures.  To  the  poet,  to  the  great  author,  to 
the  great  musician,  it  opens  new  worlds.  In  their 
minds  the  philosophic  distinction  between  subjectivity 
and  objectivity  often  disappears.  The  creations  of  their 
thoughts  are  at  least  as  real  as  material  things.  In  Bal- 
zac's case  thej'  were  sometimes  more  real.  It  might  be 
surmised  by  a  bold  thinker  that  such  minds  as  the  great 
novelist's  are  symbols  of  that  ultimate  unity  of  nature 
winch  appeared  to  this  one  so  natural  and  obvious  a 
truth  ;  that  in  the  facility  of  transformation  from  subject 
to  object,  and  in  the  intense  vitalizing  force  of  such 
mentalities,  was  shown  forth  palpabty  an  illustration  of 
the  oneness  of  that  primal  substance  modifications  of 
which  include  the  so-called  immaterialities,  as  well  as 
the  materialities,  of  the  universe  ;  which,  while  varying 
in  apparent  properties  and  phenomenal  appearances  as 
widely  as  the  hydrogen  molecule  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  lovely  form  of  a  beautiful  woman  on  the  other,  —  as 


Introduction. 


xix 


diverse  as  the  tenuous  gas  of  a  comet's  tail  and  the  pon- 
derous massiveness  of  a  modern  ironclad,  —  are  all  re- 
solvable into  the  same  ethereal  substance  whence  in  the 
beginning  the  germs  of  everything  proceeded. 

Louis  Lambert,  Balzac  tells  us,  was  normally  a  spir- 
itualist;—  that  is,  as  contra-distinguished  from  a  materi- 
alist. But  with  much  subtlety  he  is  represented  as  being- 
drawn  in  the  direction  of  materialism  by  his  reason. 
When  he  depends  wholly  upon  ratiocination  he  loses  his 
hold  on  the  spiritual.  When  he  yields  to  intuition  he 
is  almost  wrholly  spiritualist.  "  Perhaps,"  observes  the 
"Poet,"  "the  words  'materialism'  and  'spiritualism' 
indicate  two  sides  of  one  and  the  same  fact."  That,  we 
may  safely  conclude,  was  the  view  toward  which  Balzac 
was  most  strong^  drawn,  and  that,  it  is  worth  while  to 
add,  is  the  conclusion  to  which  all  modern  physical  re- 
search also  tends  more  and  more  strongly.  According 
to  the  septenary  analysis  of  the  human  constitution  to 
be  found  in  Oriental  creeds,  there  are  three  perishable 
principles  which  tend  downward,  three  imperishable 
principles  which  tend  upward,  and  one  (the  fourth)  which 
forms  the  joining-point  of  the  others,  and  itself  may  be 
deflected  either  up  or  down.  Such  a  conception  would 
elucidate  the  apparent  constitutional  inabilit}^  of  a  large 
proportion  of  mankind  to  apprehend  spiritual  views  of 
things,  and  the  corresponding  incapacity  of  a  much 
smaller  proportion  to  appreciate  material  viewrs  of 
things.  A  tendency  early  established,  and  which  in- 
clined the  mind  upward  or  downward,  would  ac- 
count for  a  difference  which  in  its  essence  may  be  as 


XX 


Introduction. 


simply  derived  as  this,  yet  momentous  in  its  ultimate 
effects. 

Balzac  employs  the  doctrine  of  Swedenborg  to  illus- 
trate this  line  of  speculation.    Every  man,  according  to 
the  Swedish  seer,  possesses  in  himself  angelic  potential- 
ities.   To  fulfil  his  celestial  vocation  he  must  cultivate 
the  spiritual  elements.   If  material  tendencies  prevail  in 
him,  the  forces  of  his  nature  are  expended  in  the  action 
of  the  physical  faculties,  and  the  angelic  part  of  him 
perishes  slowly  through  the  process  of  materialization. 
In  the  contrary  case,— if,  that  is,  he  nourishes  and  sus- 
tains his  interior  life,  — the  soul  expands,  and  obtains 
ascendency  over  the  body,  and  at  death,  the  spirit, 
prepared  and  fitted  for  the  higher  life,  assumes  its 
new  functions  easily  and  promptly.     This  doctrine 
was  peculiarly  suited  to  the  mind  of  Louis  Lambert, 
and  he  is  represented  as  longing  to  accept  it ;  but  in 
analyzing  his  own  mental  processes,  he  is  much  struck 
by  a  dream  or  vision,  in  which  he  saw  clearly  a  land- 
scape he  had  not  at  the  time  visited  in  his  waking  state, 
and  which  he  instantly  recognizes  when  subsequently 
taken  to  the  spot.    The  subtlety  of  his  reflections  is 
strikingly  illustrated  in  the  ideas  to  which  this  incident 
gives  rise.    At  first  he  is  disposed  to  regard  it  as  prov- 
ing what  occultists  term  the  possibility  of  the  projection 
of  the  astral  form,  — the  existence  of  some  second  ego 
capable  of  leaving  the  body,  going  abroad,  and  taking 
cognizance  of  mundane  things.    But  presently  it  occurs 
to  him  that  there  may  be  another  explanation  of  the 
phenomenon,  — that  it  may  only  indicate  the  possession 


Introduction. 


xxi 


of  latent  faculties  common  to  all,  and  which  can  be  ac- 
counted for  materially.    There  is  some  crudeness  and 
not  a  little  obvious  fallacy  in  the  earlier  speculations  of 
Lambert,  but  it  is  quite  clear  that  they  were  put  there 
intentionally  and  not  ignorantly  by  Balzac.    His  object 
was  to  trace  the  development  of  an  exceptionally  power- 
ful mind,  and  he  takes  various  and  almost  always  skil- 
ful methods  of  showing  the  growth  of  this  interesting 
intellectuality.    The  extreme  sensibility  of  Louis,  and 
the  energy  of  his  imagination  are,  for  instance,  ex- 
hibited in  his  remark  :  "  If  I  think  strongly  on  the  sensa- 
tion the  blade  of  my  penknife  would  cause  if  thrust  into 
my  flesh,  I  instantly  experience  a  sharp  pain,  as  though 
I  had  really  cut  myself ;  nothing  is  lacking  but  the  flow 
of  blood.    But  this  feeling  takes  me  by  surprise,  like  a 
sudden  noise  breaking  into  a  deep  silence.    An  idea 
causing  physical  suffering!    What  do  you  think  of 
that  ?  "    In  this  brief  sentence  is  opened  up  one  of  the 
most  interesting  and  suggestive  of  studies;  namely, 
that  of  the  influence  of  the  mind  upon  the  body.  The 
staple  English  treatise  upon  it  is  that  of  Dr.  Daniel 
Hack  Tuke,  who  has  treated  it  with  breadth  of  view 
and  a  wealth  of  illustration.   Those  who  are  familiar 
with  his  work  are  aware  that  the  example  cited  by 
Louis  Lambert,  though  impressive,  is  in  no  respect  ex- 
travagant or  fanciful, — far  more  surprising  cases  of  the 
influence  of  mind  upon  body  being  recorded.  Thus 
Dr.  Tuke  observes  that  "The  emotions  powerfully  ex- 
cite, modify,  or  suspend  organic  functions,  causing 
changes  in  nutrition,  secretion,  and  excretion,  and 


xxii 


Introduction. 


thereby  affecting  the  development  and  maintenance  of 
the  body."    And  he  goes  on  to  detail  eases  which  prove 
that  there  is  absolutely  no  kind  of  change  which  may 
not  be  caused  in  every  part  of  the  body  save  in  the 
my  framework,  by  the  emotions  or  the  will.  Indeed. 
Lambert's  assertion.  "Facts  are  nothing:  they  do  not 
exist :  there  subsists  nothing  but  ideas.'*  appears  any- 
thing but  far-fetched,  when  the  capacities  of  the  intangi- 
ble something  called  Mind  for  influencing  matter  are 
considered  :  though  the  study  of  this  branch  of  science 
cannot  but  tend  to  strengthen  the  growing  doctrine  of 
the  unity  of  nature.    Perhaps  the  most  curious  fact  in 
this  line  of  research  is  the  power  of  simple  belief, 
whether  right  or  wrong,  to  effect  structural  changes  and 
important  modifications  of  tissue.    The  late  Dr.  W.  B. 
Carpenter  brought  together  a  large  number  of  instances 
of  this,  in  his  treatise  on  "Mental  Physiology.'*'  His- 
tory, indeed,  abounds  with  the  most  diverse  illustrations 
of  this  familiar,  yet  little  understood,  class  of  phenom- 
ena, and  there  are  well-attested  cases  which  demonstrate 
that  even  death  may  be  caused  by  a  persistent  mental 
impression.    Belief  that  a  disease  has  been  contracted 
will  often  produce  the  disease  or  a  simulation  of  it,  just 
as  a  belief  in  the  potency  of  a  therapeutic  agent  will 
produce  all  the  beneficial  effects  the  agent  could  have 
roused,  even  when  some  neutral  substitute,  such  as 
bread  pills,  is  actually  administered. 

Louis  Lambert  perceived  the  implications  of  this 
mental  influence  over  the  body,  and  the  effect  of  it 
mav  be  traced  in  his  later  and  riper  conclusions.  To 


Introduction. 


xxiii 


Balzac  such  perception  was  easy,  but  the  world  at 
large  has  for  so  long  a  time  confused  itself  with  nom- 
inal distinctions  that  it  has  ended  by  making  of  the 
terms  "mind"  and  "  matter "  two  irreconcilable  and 
mutually  destructive  entities.    One  inevitable  result  of 
so  regarding  them  is  the  blocking  of  all  paths  to  com- 
plete elucidation.     Philosophers  have  done  for  Mind 
and  Matter  very  much  what  theologians  have  done  for 
Nature  and  the  Supernatural.   In  denying  the  existence 
of  the  latter,  modern  science  is  justified,  for  the  word 
implies  a  contradiction.    There  can  be  nothing  answer- 
ing to   the  general  conception  of  the  supernatural. 
Whatever  is  is  natural,  and  Supernaturalism,  with  all 
it  implies  and  involves,  is  a  delusion  which  has  been 
handed  down  to  us  from  the  Dark  Ages.   In  the  endless 
wonders  of  the  universe  there  is  room  for  organic  life 
under  far  more  forms  and  conditions  than  the  human 
mind  is  capable  of  conceiving.    Science  has  discovered 
a  few  of  these,  and  in  time  may  extend  its  categories. 
It  has  given  a  lesson  to  the  presumption  which  would 
set  bounds  to  the  power  of  the  supreme  Artificer,  in 
demonstrating  the   habitation  of  air  and  water  by 
swarming  myriads  of  creatures  every  one  of  which 
is  invisible  to  the  naked  eye  and  impalpable  to  the 
touch.    It  has  shown  that  only  parts  of  even  the  com- 
monest manifestations  of  energy,  as  light,  heat,  or 
electricity,  can  be  perceived  by  human  vision  or  reg- 
istered by  human  inventions.    Of  the  material  world 
beneath  and  around  us  we  know  that  we  are  able  to 
cognize  but  a  small  percentage  of  existing  phenomena ; 


xxiv 


Introduction. 


our  senses  will  not  serve  us  to  see  or  hear  or  feel  or 
taste  the  finer  matters.  A  question  of  a  few  vibrations 
of  the  ether,  more  or  less,  makes  for  us  all  the  difference 
between  perception  and  non-perception.  In  the  circum- 
stances surely  it  is  not  less  unscientific  than  irrational 
to  attempt  to  draw  the  lines  of  sentient  existence  an}T- 
where,  or  to  draft  creeds  —  whether  scientific  or  theo- 
logical —  so  narrow  as  to  exclude  from  recognition 
whatever  cannot  be  weighed  or  analyzed  by  the  micro- 
scope or  tested  by  the  blowpipe  or  retort.  Yet  it  must 
be  admitted  that  the  frame  of  mind  here  protested 
against  is  still  far  too  common,  and  that  whether  in- 
herited or  acquired  it  is  an  intellectual  condition  which 
hinders  progress,  and  above  all  which  militates  against 
advance  on  those  psychological  lines  which  to-da}r 
promise  the  most  important  results,  and  upon  which 
Balzac,  half  a  century  ago,  showed  his  ability  to  pro- 
ceed with  the  luminous  prescience  of  the  true  Seer. 

Those  who  follow  this  path,  however,  must  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  conditions  of  the  quest.  The}7  must  bear  in 
mind  the  character  of  the  psycholog}'  to  be  developed. 
The  view  taken  by  Balzac  was  that  which  great  creative 
intellects  have  ever  held  and  taught,  —  a  doctrine  vener- 
able be}Tond  all  systems  which  obtain  to-day,  and  compre- 
hending the  principles  which  are  found  at  the  base  of  all 
esoteric  religions.  Browning  has  put  in  the  mouth  of  his 
Paracelsus  a  clear  definition  of  one  of  these  fundamental 
tenets  :  — 

"  Truth  is  within  ourselves  ;  it  takes  no  rise 
From  outward  things,  whate'er  you  may  believe: 
There  is  an  inmost  centre  in  us  all, 


Introduction. 


xxv 


Where  truth  abides  in  fulness;  and  around, 
Wall  upon  wall,  the  gross  flesh  hems  it  in, 
This  perfect,  clear  perception  — which  is  truth; 
A  baffling  and  perverting  carnal  mesh 
Blinds  it,  and  makes  all  error;  and,  4  to  hwiv1 
Rather  consists  in  opening  out  a  way 
Whence  the  imprisoned  splendor  may  escape, 
Than  in  effecting  entry  for  a  light 
Supposed  to  be  without.' ' 

To  "  set  free  the  soul  in  all  alike,"  to  discover  "  the  true 
laws  by  which  the  flesh  bars  in  the  spirit,"  is  the  endeavor 
of  the  student  of  this  psychology.  The  task  undertaken 
by  Balzac  was  far  more  comprehensive  even  than  this. 
He  might  have  said,  in  the  words  of  the  poet,  Aprile : 

"  Each  passion  sprung  from  man,  conceived  by  man, 
Would  I  express  and  clothe  in  its  right  form, 
Or  blend  with  others  struggling  in  one  form, 
Or  show  repressed  by  an  ungainly  form. 
For,  if  you  marvelled  at  some  mighty  spirit 
With  a  fit  frame  to  execute  his  will  — 
Ay,  even  unconsciously  to  work  his  will  — 
You  should  be  moved  no  less  beside  some  strong, 
Rare  spirit,  fettered  to  a  stubborn  body, 
Endeavoring  to  subdue  it,  and  inform  it 
With  its  own  splendor!  " 

This  latter  case  may  be  likened  to  that  of  Louis 
Lambert,  who  is,  however,  still  more  clearly  imaged 
forth  in  these  lines  :  — 

u  One  man  shall  crawl 
Through  life,  surrounded  by  all  stirring  things, 
Unmoved  —  and  he  goes  mad;  and  from  the  wreck 
Of  what  he  was,  by  his  wild  talk  alone, 
You  first  collect  how  great  a  spirit  he  hid." 


xxvi 


Introduction. 


It  is  not  possible  to  classify  Balzac's  philosophy. 
The  curious  student  will  find  it  reminiscent  of  many 
systems  of  thought.  From  Plato  to  Proclus,  from 
Proclus  to  Hegel,  he  ranged  freely,  and  took  whatever 
he  could  assimilate.  As  Hegel  borrowed  from  Em- 
pedocles  and  Heraclitus,  as  the  scepticism  of  Hume 
and  the  idealism  of  Spinoza  overlap ;  so  the  thoughts 
of  men  upon  the  deep  problems  of  existence  mingle  and 
flow  from  one  to  another.  Any  attempt  to  separate 
Balzac's  ideas  and  to  apportion  them  severally  to  their 
primal  sources  would  be  worse  than  unprofitable,  it 
would  be  misleading.  For  just  as  Shakspeare  took  poor 
and  witless  tales  and  plays,  and  passing  them  through 
the  alembic  of  his  mind  reproduced  their  contents 
transformed,  glorified,  impressed  with  the  power  and 
majesty  of  his  intellect,  so  Balzac  worked  over  and 
informed  with  the  light  of  genius  the  confused  mass  of 
speculations  absorbed  by  him  in  his  reading.  George 
Henry  Lewes,  who  had  a  Positivist's  contempt  for  all 
philosophies  but  his  own,  observes,  in  speaking  of 
Hegel's  method,  "  Curious  to  consider  !  In  the  modern 
as  in  the  ancient  world,  the  inevitable  results  of  a  phil- 
osophical Method  are  Idealism  and  Scepticism.  One 
class  of  minds  is  led  to  Idealism  or  Mysticism  ;  another 
class  is  led  to  Scepticism.  But  as  both  these  conclu- 
sions are  repugnant  to  the  ordinary  conclusions  of 
mankind,  they  are  rejected,  and  the  Method  which  led  to 
them  is  also  rejected.  A  new  one  is  found  ;  hopes  beat 
high ;  truth  is  about  to  be  discovered  ;  the  search  is 
active,  and  the  result  —  always  the  same — repugnant 


Introduction. 


xx\  ii 


Idealism  or  Scepticism.  Thus  struggling  and  baffled, 
hoping  and  dispirited,  has  Humanity  forever  renewed 
the  conflict,  without  once  gaining  a  victory/'  Balzac 
'was  neither  an  Idealist,  in  the  technical  acceptation  of 
the  term,  nor  a  Sceptic.  His  bent  was  necessarily 
idealistic,  for  the  reason  that  in  him  Intuition  was 
raised  to  a  very  high  power,  and  since  because  of  that 
endowment  his  objectification  of  subjects  was  re- 
markably complete.  But,  also  because  of  the  abnor- 
mal development  of  his  imagination,  that  which  to  less 
gifted  minds  seemed  mystical  was  to  him  matter-of-fact. 
This  may  be  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  peculiar 
conditions  under  which  the  so-called  "  Seeress  of  Pre- 
vorst "  lived.  She  believed  herself  constantly  sur- 
rounded by  disembodied  spirits,  and  so  familiar  were 
these  apparitions  to  her  that  she  took  no  more  notice 
of  them  than  of  living  persons.  It  is  easy  to  perceive 
that  in  such  a  mental  state  no  ideas  of  the  supernatural 
could  be  disturbing,  or  other  than  familiar  and  perhaps 
even  commonplace.  There  is  indeed  nothing,  however 
strange  or  unaccustomed  primarily,  to  which  use  will 
not  familiarize  the  human  mind.  An  exalted  condition 
of  actual  idealism  was  normal  with  Balzac,  and  there- 
fore it  is  that  Taine  found  him,  as  he  thought  "  a  little 
coarse  in  imagination,  and  prone  to  clothe  invisible 
things  with  bodies."  Had  Taine  studied  modern  phys- 
ics he  would  not  have  made  this  remark,  nor  would  he 
have  done  so  had  he  really  comprehended  the  nature  of 
the  writer  whose  tendencies  he  was  criticising  at  the 
time. 


xxviii 


Introduction. 


The  development  of  the  general  system  in  6  4  Louis 
Lambert"  is  gradual,  and  owing  to  the  exigencies  of 
the  story  there  are  some  repetitions  and  contradictions. 
The  main  points  are  given  clearly  enough  in  the  first 
of  the  two  lists  or  categories  which  are  represented  as 
having  been  taken  down  by  Pauline  from  the  lips  of 
Louis  when  the  latter  was  supposed  to  be  insane.  The 
arrangement  cannot  be  considered  felicitous,  and  it  is 
apt  to  bewilder  the  reader  at  first.  In  order  to  appre- 
hend the  doctrine  fully,  the  condensed  statements  given 
in  the  numbered  fragments  should  be  studied  carefully 
before  following  the  more  detailed  reasoning  by  which, 
in  the  earlier  period  of  college  life,  Louis  endeavors  to 
work  out  the  ideas  which  occur  to  him.  In  these  earlier 
discussions  there  is  often  a  fulness  and  lucidity  which 
leave  nothing  to  be  desired,  and  they  are  moreover  very 
suggestive.  But  it  is  advisable  that  the  two  divisions, 
so  to  speak,  be  examined  as  nearly  as  possible  together ; 
for  by  adopting  this  course  the  later  aphorisms  will  be 
found  to  throw  new  light  upon  the  preceding  and  gener- 
ally tentative  suggestions,  and  vice  versa.  This  method 
of  taking  the  book  is  perhaps  the  only  one  which  will 
enable  the  reader  to  obtain  a  thorough  comprehension 
of  the  author's  theories. 

The  first  category  opens  with  the  following:  "Here 
below  everything  is  the  ^product  of  an  Ethereal  Sub- 
stance, which  is  the  common  base  of  divers  phenomena 
known  under  the  vulgar  names  of  Electricity,  Heat, 
Light,  Galvanism,  Magnetism,  etc.  The  universality  of 
the  transmutations  of  this  Substance  constitutes  what 


Introduction. 


xxix 


is  commonly  termed  Matter."  When  Balzac  wrote  this 
-the  doctrine  of  the  Correlation  of  the  Physical  Forces 
had  not  been  propounded.  Since  the  appearance  of 
Professor  Grove's  remarkable  essay  (1843)  a  strong  and 
steadily  extending  current  of  thought  has  been  flowing 
toward  the  conclusion  that  all  matter  is  homogeneous. 
Thus  Professor  Winchell,  in  his  "  World-Life,  or  Com- 
parative Geology,"  observes  :  "  But  one  system  of  mat- 
ter pervades  the  immense  spaces  of  the  visible  universe ; 
and  it  is  a  dream  of  physical  philosophy  that  all  the 
recognized  chemical  elements  will  one  day  be  found  but 
modifications  of  a  single  material  element.  When  this 
dream  is  realized  we  shall  behold  the  amazing  phenom- 
enon of  a  universe,  with  its  numberless  forms,  conditions, 
and  aspects,  built  out  of  a  single  substance."  The  same 
author  remarks  that  "  the  late  remarkable  experiments 
of  Dr.  Crooks  on  so-called  '  radiant  matter'  would  seem 
to  be  best  understood  on  the  hypothesis  of  the  homo- 
geneity of  the  elements  of  matter,  and  the  continuity 
of  the  states  of  matter."  But  Biology  furnishes  abun- 
dant analogies  and  suggestions  all  pointing  toward  the 
same  conclusion  ;  and  while  the  demonstration  of  this 
hypothesis  could  but  deepen  the  mystery  of  existence, 
the  experiences  familiar  to  mankind  should  certainly 
cause  the.  apprehended  discovery  to  be  regarded  rather 
as  natural  than  amazing.  In  the  examination  of  germ- 
life,  for  example,  the  phenomena  of  individualization 
repel  all  conjecture  and  defeat  all  research.  The  iden- 
tity of  the  chemical  constituents  of  protoplasm  may 
easily  be  established.    The  likeness  between  two  eggs 


XXX 


Introduction. 


of  a  common  fowl  may  be  shown  to  be  complete ;  yet 
even  in  far  simpler  organisms  the  process  of  develop- 
ment introduces  —  how  and  why,  we  cannot  discover 
—  specific  differences  which  impart  to  the  completed 
organism  individuality  and  character.  Between  the 
human  ovum  and  that  of  lower  animals  no  difference 
is  perceptible.  Is  it  more  wonderful  that  everything 
should  proceed  from  a  single  substance  than  that  from 
the  simplest  combinations  of  matter  structures  so  rad- 
ically divergent  should  develop  ?  As  to  Matter,  dis- 
cussions of  which  have  loaded  so  many  shelves  and 
created  so  many  controversies,  we  are  not  likely  to 
know  much  more  of  it  if  we  recognize  it  as  the  base 
of  all  phenomenal  existence ;  nor  can  any  school  of 
philosophy  derive  real  support  from  such  a  demonstra- 
tion. The  chief  benefit  to  be  anticipated  from  a  deter- 
mination of  the  problem  is  an  economy  of  energy  in 
scientific  research.  Already  Heat  and  Light  have  been 
assigned  their  places.  We  indeed  know  them  but  par- 
tially, but  we  have  more  and  more  reason  for  believing 
that  all  the  so-called  Forces  of  Nature  will  eventually 
prove  to  be  modes  of  Motion  ;  and  this  is  only  another 
way  of  putting  what  Balzac  describes  as  modifications  of 
the  primal  substance.  The  relation  of  Balzac's  physical 
theories  to  those  of  the  Indian  psj'chologists  is  also  not 
a  little  interesting.  We  must  not  forget  that  the  idea 
of  a  homogeneous  medium  is  anything  but  a  modern 
one,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it  has  received  from 
modern  science  its  strongest  confirmation.  It  was,  how- 
ever, taught  by  Anaxagoras,  while  the  atomic  theory,  in 


Introduction. 


xxxi 


variously  modified  forms,  was  held  by  Leucippus,  Demo- 
critus,  Epicurus,  and  the  Roman  Lucretius.  So,  too, 
the  vortical  theory,  which  is  of  the  essence  of  the  mod- 
ern nebular  hypothesis,  may  be  traced  into  the  dim 
past  of  Chaldaea  and  Egypt,  whence  the  Greek  philos- 
ophers derived  it.  But  the  theory  of  a  homogeneous 
substance  is  much  older  than  Grecian  civilization,  — 
older  than  the  science  of  the  Chaldaean  and  Babylonian 
Magi.  We  must  look  for  the  genesis  of  that  theory 
in  the  cradle  of  the  Aryan  race,  and  we  shall  find  it 
established  there  in  remote  ages,  —  prior  possibly  to 
the  Vedantic  period.  The  homogeneous  substance  of 
the  nineteenth  century  was  known  to  the  Aiyan  sages 
as  Akasa,  and  the}^  appear  to  have  speculated  upon 
it  with  an  acumen  and  a  thoroughness  leaving  little 
opportunity  for  the  superposition  of  original  views.  At 
a  considerably  later  period,  yet  still  far  in  advance  of 
all  Western  development,  the  "  brooding  East"  formu- 
lated ideas  regarding  Akasa  which,  being  taught  only 
esoterically,  escaped  attention  for  a  long  time,  but  which 
indicate  the  attainment  of  conclusions  as  to  the  rela- 
tions of  the  so-called  Natural  Forces  with  this  super- 
sensuous  medium  suggestive  of  much  deeper  and  clearer 
knowledge  of  physics  than  modern  science  has  hitherto 
been  willing  to  admit  the  possibility  of  in  what  it  re- 
gards as  the  childhood  of  the  race.  In  fact  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Eishis  concerning  the  Natural  Forces  may 
be  said  to  suggest  the  broadest  anticipations  of  the 
most  advanced  science  in  the  present  day  in  some  par- 
ticulars ;  and  what  is  more,  they  seem  to  imply  not  only 


xxxii 


Introduction. 


a  theoretical  familiarity  with  the  nature  of  the  forces 
referred  to,  but  a  knowledge  of  methods  of  manip- 
ulating and  controlling  them  such  as  the  fertility  of 
modern  invention  has  thus  far  failed  to  equal.  As  we 
proceed  with  the  analysis  of  Balzac's  physical  theories 
we  shall  see  that  there  are  other  elements  in  his  sys- 
tem which  are  in  singular  accord  with  Oriental  doc- 
trines. This  is  not  surprising  when  the  processes  by 
which  ideas  have  been  disseminated  through  the  world 
are  considered ;  but  light  has  so  often  emanated  from 
the  East  that  the  West  has  long  ceased  to  give  credit 
for  its  benefits. 

That  Balzac  owed  much  to  the  Kabbalists  is  quite 
clear.  They  taught,  however,  that  Matter,  Heat,  and 
Motion  were  closely  inter-related  ;  that  Heat  and  Motion 
were  in  fact  conditions  of  Matter.  But  then  the  Kabba- 
lists held  what  modern  Science  cannot  yet  bring  itself 
to  ;  namely,  that  between  Spirit  and  Matter  there  is  no 
real  barrier,  —  that  Spirit  informs  all  Matter,  and  that  the 
biological  phenomena  which  so  perplex  and  baffle  our 
clear-eyed  students  of  Nature  are  explicable  by  the  com- 
paratively simple  hypothesis  of  controlling  Mind.  The}' 
contended  that  dead  Matter  was  unthinkable,  —  certainly 
altogether  an  unreasonable  conception ;  and  inorganic 
Nature  did  not  strike  them  as  confuting  their  doctrine. 
Of  course  the  Kabbalists  were  unscientific,  but  so  also 
is  tl  Louis  Lambert,"  and  yet  in  both  there  is  some 
matter  for  reflection  ;  and  here  and  there  may  be  dis- 
cerned so  strange  a  foreshadowing  of  views  and  theories 
generally  regarded  as  quite  modern  that  it  is  not  a  little 


Introduction. 


xxxiii 


interesting  to  observe  the  harmonies  between  conclusions 
reached  by  the  most  approved  methods  of  inductive  re- 
search, and  those  come  at  in  an  altogether  irregular 
and  illegitimate  way,  by  putting  confidence  in  the 
"  superior  but  dangerous  faculty  of  Intuition,"  as  M. 
Taine  has  it,  or  by  following  the  lead  of  Oriental  mys- 
tics, occultists,  and  other  heterodox  inquirers. 

It  may  appear  at  first  not  quite  clear  whether  the  "  uni- 
versal substance  "  postulated  by  Balzac  corresponds  more 
closely  with  the  «  substance  "  of  Spinoza  or  with  that  of 
Berkeley.  No  philosopher  has  been  more  misrepresen- 
ted than  the  latter,  for  he  was  charged  with  propounding 
self-evident  absurdities  when  in  fact  he  triumphed  com- 
pletely in  his  argument  over  both  Realists  and  Dualists. 
He  taught  that  there  is  only  one  substance,  and  that 
Spirit.  This  is  the  implication  of  the  modern  physical 
philosophy  ;  for  manifestly  any  rational  conclusion  upon 
the  homogeneity  of  the  primal  substance  must  involve 
the  spirituality  of  that  substance,  unless  it  is  to  be  con- 
tended that  life  and  thought  are  merely  properties  of 
matter ;  and  even  that  contention  cannot  save  Scepti- 
cism, for  Matter  which  thinks  is  clearly  not  the  matter 
of  the  Dualists  at  all.  Balzac,  however,  has  not  left  his 
opinion  on  this  point  doubtful.  His  second  category 
clears  up  whatever  may  seem  obscure  in  the  first,  and 
his  definition  of  Will  and  Thought,  together  with  his 
classification  of  human  intelligence,  prove  the  pervading 
spirituality  of  his  scheme.  As  to  the  plausibility  of 
this  speculation,  it  is  certainly  much  greater  than  that 
of  the  theories  which  require  us  to  believe  that  Body  or 

3 


xxxiv 


Introdiiction. 


Substance  can  affect  Spirit.     Of  such  a  mode  of  action 
we  have  no  experience  ;  but  on  the  other  hand  the  an- 
alogies between  spiritual  action  upon  Matter  and  that 
of  the  so-called  Natural  Forces  are  so  close  and  strong 
as  to  seem  to  point  directly  toward  the  Berkeleyan  hy- 
pothesis.   Take  in  illustration  all  forms  of  Energy.  It 
is  not  a  little  significant  that  Energy  is  never  found  sep- 
arate from  Matter ;  so  that,  as  Professor  Stewart  ob- 
serves, "  we  might,  with  perfect  propriety,  define  Matter 
as  the  seat  or  vehicle  of  Energy,  —  that  which  is  essen- 
tial to  the  existence  of  the  known  forms  of  Energy,  with- 
out which  therefore  there  could  be  no  transformation  of 
Energy,  and  therefore  no  physical  life  such  as  we  know 
it."  Matter  and  Energy  together,  then,  furnish  the  bases 
of  life.    But  what  is  Energy?    It  is  a  mode  of  Motion. 
It  is  the  vis  viva,  the  vivifying,  transforming  force  upon 
the  activity  of  which  all  the  transmutations  of  matter 
depend.    Upon  the  common  and  all-pervading  substance 
Energy  operates  through  the  Natural  Forces,  and  in  no 
essentially  different  way  from  the  operation  of  that  high- 
est element  of  man  which  we  call  Spirit,  upon  the  body. 
Energy  changes  matter,  fashions  it,  organizes  it,  builds 
it  into  myriad  forms,  and  sustains  in  all  organic  Nature 
the  condition  we  call  Life.    In  like  manner  the  human 
mind  operates,  and  with  certainly  no  stronger  indica- 
tions of  knowledge  implying  a  spiritual  basis.    This  im- 
palpable entity,  this  invisible  essence,  can  b}^  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Will,  cause  physical  transformations  equal  in 
extent  sometimes  to  those  continuous  miracles  of  ger- 
mination and  cell-growth  our  increasing  knowledge  of 


Introduction. 


XXXV 


which  only  renders  the  marvel  and  mystery  of  the  pro- 
cesses greater. 

When,  then,  we  find  Balzac  suggesting  that  the  human 
Will  is  a  fluid  (an  awkward  term,  but  intelligible  enough) 
which  is  taken  up  by  sentient  creatures  from  the  sur- 
rounding universal  ethereal  substance,  and  is  trans- 
formed in  the  physical  system  into  the  form  of  the  energy 
we  know,  and  the  capabilities  of  which  are  in  evidence 
everywhere,  we  may  not  be  prepared  to  accept  the  hy- 
pothesis, but  we  shall  not  be  revolted  by  it  as  by  a 
manifest  absurdity.  Observe  that  Balzac  endows  with 
Will  every  being  capable  of  movement,  and  that  he 
ascribes  varieties  of  form  and  genera  'to  combinations 
of  this  energizing  force  with  the  general  Substance. 
There  is  here  some  obscurity  ;  for  while  the  operation  of 
Will  in  the  selection  of  specializations  is  not  only  en- 
tirely thinkable,  but  forms  the  basis  of  the  teleological 
theory,  the  idea  that  the  Will  of  the  animal  itself  should 
be  in  any  manner  represented  in  the  differentiation  of 
forms  and  species  is  certainly  not  thinkable  ;  since  it  is 
impossible  to  conceive  of  the  existence  of  such  individual 
Will  as  Will  prior  to  the  completion  of  the  organism. 
But  Balzac's  remark  concerning  instincts,  namely,  that 
they  result  from  the  necessities  imposed  by  the  habitat 
of  the  animal,  was  a  bold  and  far-seeing  speculation, 
and  considered  as  pre-Darwinian  deserves  some  credit. 
The  variation  of  species  also  is  explained  by  the  con- 
ditions of  the  environment. 

In  Man,  proceeds  Louis  Lambert  (or  Balzac,  for  it 
is  all  the  same)  the  Will  becomes  a  characteristic  force, 


xxxvi 


Introduction. 


surpassing  in  energy  that  of  all  other  animals.  So 
much  will  be  conceded  at  once,  but  the  general  appre-s 
hension  of  the  extent  to  which  the  human  Will  can  be 
developed  is  altogether  inadequate.  A  modern  mys- 
tical  writer  declares  that  44  there  is  no  force  in  the 
universe  save  Will-force  ;  and  all  that  life  needs  for  life 
is  possible  to  Will."  To  the  uninstructed  Western  mind, 
such  expressions  are  apt  to  appear  wild  and  extrava- 
gant. It  is  only  through  the  study  of  Oriental  psychol- 
ogy that  the  truth  and  even  the  sobriety  of  them  can 
be  perceived.  But,  following  Balzac's  lines,  let  us  as- 
sume the  Will  to  be  in  its  ultimate  essence  a  Natural 
Force.  Now  we  have  advanced  enough  to  know  that 
some  of  the  forces  of  nature  can  be  controlled  and 
made  to  work  for  man  ;  and,  moreover,  one  very  subtle 
force,  Electricity,  has  been  so  far  mastered  that  it  is 
possible  to  store  it  in  accumulators,  and  to  carry  it 
about  in  this  form,  and  to  apply  it  whenever  and  where- 
ever  it  is  wanted.  A  couple  of  centuries  ago,  if  some 
student  in  advance  of  his  age  had  invented  a  vehicle 
resembling  Faure's  storage  battery,  no  doubt  he  would 
have  been  charged  with  the  practice  of  Black  Magic,  — 
as  indeed  nearly  every  man  of  science  was,  during  the 
Middle  Ages.  To-cla}'  we  learn  of  such  discoveries  quite 
coolly,  and  do  not  think  of  questioning  their  possibilit}' ; 
yet  if  it  be  said  that  the  human  Will  is  not  less  suscep- 
tible of  accumulation  than  the  much  less  subtle  force 
called  Electricit}",  the  general  tendency  is  toward  incre- 
dulity. On  the  other  hand  there  is  a  disposition  — 
increasing  of  late  years  —  to  give  the  imagination  too 


Introduction, 


xxxvii 


free  play  when  Oriental  occultism  is  spoken  of.  It  is 
to  be  feared  that  the  principle  omne  ignotum  pro 
mirifico  is  in  operation  here,  and  because  most  people 
really  know  very  little  about  India,  they  may  be  prone 
to  attribute  to  some  of  its  residents  powers  and  prac- 
tices of  a  fabulous  kind.  Such  as  have  studied  the 
subject  seriously  shrink  from  countenancing  any  of 
these  lawless  imaginings, — being  well  aware  that  the 
only  hope  of  bringing  Western  science  to  any  interest 
in  Eastern  science  lies  in  a  restrained  and  cautious 
presentation  of  facts.  The  simple  truth  is  that  the 
men  of  science  of  India,  having  made  an  exhaustive 
study  of  the  intellectual  part  of  man  —  or,  as  some  may 
prefer  to  term  it,  the  spiritual  part  —  profess  to  have 
gained  an  insight  into  the  operations  of  the  Will  which 
enables  them  to  control,  regulate,  discipline,  and  edu- 
cate that  faculty ;  and  in  demonstration  of  this  power 
many  of  them  have  on  various  occasions  given  proof  of 
the  possession  of  some  form  of  controllable  energy, 
capable  of  producing  phenomena  in  many  respects  an- 
alagous  to  those  which  are  caused  by  what  are  termed 
the  Natural  Forces.  c  In  the  West  no  less  than  in  the 
East  cultivation  of  the  Will  proceeds  continually,  but 
owing  to  the  fact  that  with  us  purely  material  and  in 
no  sense  scientific  ends  are  sought  by  such  education, 
the  effects  pass  unnoted,  or  are  ascribed  to  the  wTong 
agencies.  Psychology  has  always  been  the  weakest 
branch  of  Western  science,  and  remains  so  to  this  day. 
Since  it  has  been  approached  from  the  side  of  physi- 
ology some  apparent  progress  has  been  made,  though 


xxxviii 


Introduction. 


no  crucial  problem  has  been  solved ;  and  the  present 
strongly  material  bias  of  the  majority  of  men  of  science 
threatens  to  oppose  an  insuperable  barrier  to  research. 
While  such  works  as  Dr.  Maudsley's  on  u  Body  and 
Will"  are  possible,  moreover,  mental  pathology  will  be 
studied  to  no  adequate  purpose ;  for  the  defect  of  an 
influence  which  leads  men  to  look  for  confirmation  of 
materialist  theories  instead  of  seeking  the  truth  alone, 
regardless  of  consequences,  must  be  fatal  to  fruitful 
investigation.  Philosophers  have  often  incurred  the 
ridicule  of  the  crowd  by  denying  (metaphysically)  the 
possibility  of  phenomena  which,  nevertheless,  occur  con- 
tinually. Thus  the  impossibility  of  ideas  without  ob- 
jects corresponding  to  them  was  maintained  in  face  of 
the  common  experience  that  in  dreams  and  in  delirium 
ideas  unquestionably  do  arise  without  the  concurrence 
of  an}r  corresponding  objects.  But  the  perversity  of 
philosophers  even  at  the  worst  is  mild  and  measured 
when  compared  with  that  scientific  arrogance  and  fatuity 
which,  rather  than  admit  the  least  damaging  inferences 
against  favorite  though  undemonstrable  hypotheses, 
resort  to  denial  of  facts  the  reality  of  which  is  as  fully 
attested  as  anything  can  possibly  be. 

The  examples  of  disciplined  Will-force  to  be  found  in 
the  Western  world  must  be  sought  in  the  most  active 
pursuits  of  men,  as  a  rule.  It  is  in  commerce,  banking, 
transportation,  stock  speculation,  and  similar  occupa- 
tions, that  such  illustrations  are  found.  The  Rebellion 
furnished  some  striking  examples,  however,  and  the 
case  of  Stonewall  Jackson  on  one  side,  and  General 


f 

Introduction.  xxxix 

Grant  on  the  other,  may  be  specially  noted.  Grant 
possessed  what  is  called  "  an  iron  will."  A  more  self- 
contained,  determined  man  is  rarely  encountered.  He 
husbanded  his  energies,  and  brought  his  Will-power  to 
bear  with  crushing  force  upon  the  point  to  which  he 
directed  it.  Tenacity,  firmness  of  purpose,  were  among 
his  most  conspicuous  attributes,  and  these  are  merely 
other  names  for  Will- force.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted 
that  the  combined  Will- force  of  the  North  counted  for 
much  in  the  issue  of  the  struggle  ;  and  the  existence  and 
operation  of  such  an  aggregated  force  must  be  admitted 
as  a  logical  implication  of  the  theory  of  individual  Will. 
The  mystical  author  already  cited  says:  "Man  has 
but  to  will  long  enough,  to  make  the  world  as  he  would 
have  it."  Surely  this  is  one  of  the  lessons  taught  by 
Balzac's  "  Comedie  Humaine,"  and  still  more  emphati- 
cally by  the  experience  of  the  world  he  has  described 
so  powerfully.  But  the  Will  that  dominates  must  have 
been  trained,  and  above  all  it  must  comprehend  and 
obey  that  Law  of  Continuity  which  obtains  as  strongly 
in  the  spiritual  as  in  the  physical  universe.  Drilled  and 
curbed,  fixed  steadfastly  upon  an  object  and  held  reso- 
lutely to  the  pursuit  of  that,  even  the  natural,  unculti- 
vated Will  of  the  West  can  accomplish  great,  or  at  least 
important,  and  sometimes  momentous  things ;  but  it 
can /deal  only  with  the  objects  of  sense. 

Thought,  according  to  Louis  Lambert,  is  a  special 
product  of  the  human  Will.  He  put  Will  before 
Thought  because,  as  he  observes,  "  To  think,  it  is 
necessary  to  will;"  and  he  proceeds,  "  Many  beings 


xl 


Introduction. 


exist  in  the  state  of  Will,  without  ever  arriving  at  the 
state  of  Thought," — volition  being,  in  this  view,  exter- 
nal and  material,  and  Thought  internal  and  spiritual. 
All  the  senses  he  would  reduce  finally  to  one ;  that, 
namely,  of  sight  or  perception.  Touch,  taste,  hearing, 
and  smell,  he  contends,  are  each  and  all  forms  of  vision 
adapted  to  those  modifications  of  the  universal  Sub- 
stance which  man  is  capable  of  cognizing  in  its  two 
conditions,  modified  and  unmodified.  All  that  thus 
offers  itself  to  human  apprehension  maybe  reduced  to 
some  elements  whose  principles  are  in  the  air  or  the 
light,  or  in  the  principles  of  air  or  light.  This  is  an 
elaboration  of  the  fundamental  axiom  concerning  the 
character  and  properties  of  the  universal  Substance. 
The  statements  which  follow,  in  regard  to  sound,  color, 
and  perfume,  require  some  remodelling  to  adjust  them 
to  more  modern  theories.  Both  Light  and  Sound  are 
now  known  to  possess  more  than  the  purely  sensational 
existence  which  was  all  that  could  be  formerly  attributed 
to  them.  The}7  are  indeed,  in  a  sense,  "  modifications 
of  the  air,"  as  Balzac  phrases  it,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  im- 
pressions they  produce  are  caused  by  undulations  prop- 
agated through  the  luminiferous  ether,  or  whatever 
else  we  may  choose  to  call  the  ethereal  substance 
through  whose  vibrations  they  are  manifested.  The 
adjustment  of  our  auditory  and  visual  organs  to  the 
reception  and  registering  of  the  Light  and  Sound  waves 
of  course  counts  for  much  in  the  process  ;  and,  as  already 
observed  in  this  analysis,  the  imperfection  of  our  physi- 
cal organs  limits  the  sensations  we  are  capable  of  re- 


Introduction.  xli 

ceiving  both  from  Sound  and  Light.  Also,  our  eyes  and 
ears  translate  the  impressions  they  receive,  representing 
to  our  consciousness  as  continuous  rays  or  sounds  that 
which  reaches  them  in  the  form  of  vibrations  more  or 
less  rapid.  Why  a  certain  rate  of  molecular  oscillation 
should  become  a  yellow  color,  another  red,  a  third  blue, 
we  do  not,  and  perhaps  we  cannot,  know.  In  regard  to 
perfume,  said  by  Bakac  to  be  a  combination  of  air  (or 
ether)  and  light,  the  definition  is  somewhat  confused. 
There  are  few  subjects  more  interesting  than  the  propa- 
gation and  persistence  of  perfumes,  and  the  typical 
illustration  of  the  grain  of  musk  (used  by  Louis  Lam- 
bert) opens  an  exceedingly  difficult  and  little  under- 
stood line  of  inquiry.  The  law  of  the  dissipation  of 
energy  seems  in  this  case  to  be  contravened  ;  for  if  odors 
are  diffused  by  molecular  vibration,  the  source  of  the 
transformation  of  energy  must  eventually  be  brought  to 
a  state  of  equilibrium,  and  experiment  does  not  show, 
in  the  case  of  the  most  powerful  perfumes,  such  as 
musk  and  the  Ottar  of  Rose,  any  appreciable  diminu- 
tion of  mass  in  the  centre  of  emanation,  even  after  com- 
paratively long  periods  of  time. 

In  his  definition  of  the  Natural  Forces,  Balzac  seeks 
to  establish  direct  filiations  between  them  and  the  human 
faculties.  He  allies  Thought  with  Light,  and  Speech 
with  Sound,  and  he  adds  the  striking  statement  that  the 
various  transmutations  of  the  primal  Substance  are  regu- 
lated and  determined  by  Number  alone.  The  prominent 
part  occupied  in  all  n^stical  doctrines  by  speculations 
and  assertions  regarding  the  occult  powers  and  qualities 


xlii 


Introduction. 


of  numbers  is  no  doubt  familiar  to  most,  if  there  are 
not  many  who  comprehend  the  meaning  of  these  the- 
ories. It  is  to  be  presumed  that  Balzac  had  reference 
to  the  Kabbalistic  and  Oriental  hypotheses  in  this  sen- 
tence, but  he  also  stated  in  it  what  is  a  well-attested 
fact  in  physics.  The  character  of  the  sensations  pro- 
duced upon  the  human  organs  by  sound  and  light  waves 
depends  upon  the  number  of  oscillations  which  occur  in 
the  vehicle  of  the  light  or  sound.  We  owe  this  knowl- 
edge to  the  spectroscope,  which  was  invented  by  Bunsen 
and  Kirchoff  recently,  —  that  is,  since  the  death  of  Bal- 
zac. Now  the  spectroscope  dissects  the  light  which 
is  passed  through  it,  and  enables  us  to  measure  the 
oscillations  which  produce  upon  our  retina  the  effect  of 
the  several  colors.  The  length  of  a  light-wave  varies 
from  about  seven  hundred  and  sixty  millionths  of  a 
millimetre  at  the  red  end  of  the  spectrum  to  about  three 
hundred  and  ninety-three  millionths  of  a  millimetre  at 
the  violet  end.  When  these  undulations  (which  are 
propagated  at  the  rate  of  188,000  miles  per  secondare 
of  such  a  width  that  three  hundred  and  ninety-five  tril- 
lions of  them  enter  the  eye  in  a  second,  they  produce 
in  us  the  sensation  of  red  light.  When  they  are  so 
small  that  seven  hundred  and  sixty-three  trillions 
strike  the  eye  every  second,  they  produce  the  sensation 
of  violet  light.  Omitting  the  ciphers,  which  in  desig- 
nating such  great  numbers  are  likely  to  be  confusing, 
it  may  be  said  that  the  differences  between  the  colors  are 
represented  by  the  following  figures  :  red,  395  ;  yellow, 
535  ;  blue,  622  ;  violet,  763.     So  that  when  Balzac 


Introduction. 


xliii 


speaks  of  number  as  the  main  agent  in  differentiating 
the  manifestations  of  the  Natural  Forces,  he  is  in  full 
accord  with  conclusions  of  science  which  were  not 
reached  during  his  lifetime.  Sound,  as  is  well  known, 
travels  a  million  times  slower  than  Light,  its  progress 
in  ordinary  air  being  only  1,100  feet  per  second.  But 
Thought?  In  Louis  Lambert's  own  words:  "From 
thy  couch  to  the  frontiers  of  the  world  there  are  but 
two  steps  :  Will  —  Faith  !  " 

In  the  second  category  the  occult  significance  of 
Number  is  more  distinctively  dealt  with,  and  it  will  be 
best  to  examine  that  difficult  subject  separately.  The 
first  category  no  doubt  includes  also  some  esoteric 
references,  but  it  has  to  do  with  what  may  on  the 
whole,  and  in  contradistinction  from  the  second,  be 
considered  exoteric  propositions.  In  the  eighth  axiom, 
Balzac,  however,  anticipates  his  more  abstruse  specula- 
tions somewhat.  This  section  treats  of  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  primary  Matter  through  the  segregation  and 
grouping  of  molecules.  Hence  organic  life  is  devel- 
oped, and  man  becomes  a  vehicle  and  agent  of  the 
primal  Force,  capable  of  reacting  upon  Nature  with 
potent  effect.  But  there  is  in  man,  says  Lambert,  a 
controlling  principle  which  defies  analysis.  Science 
may  some  day  discover  the  elements  of  Thought  and 
Will,  but  it  never  can  trace  that  unknown  quantity 
which  he  calls  "  the  Word,"  and  which  itself  "  in- 
cessantly engenders  Matter."  What  is  this  "Word," 
of  which  it  is  asserted  that  it  "burns  and  devours 
those  who  are  not  prepared  to  receive  it "  ?  The  answer 


xliv 


Introduction. 


is  that  it  is  the  Logos, —the  immanent  Divine  Spirit, 
which  informs  and  dominates  all  Substance,  —  the  op- 
erative Mind,  —  the  Thoth  and  Hermes  of  antiquity. 
The  Logos  is  the  Speaker,  the  Maker,  the  Manifestor, 
the  Adonai  of  the  Kabbala,  that  spirit  of  which  John 
speaks  when  he  writes:  "  In  the  beginning  was  the 
Word,  and  the  Word  was  with  God,  and  the  Word  was 
God."  This  too  is  the  "Light  that  shineth  in  dark- 
ness ;  and  the  darkness  comprehended  it  not."  Lam- 
bert well  says  that  the  Word  4t  burns  and  devours  those 
who  are  not  prepared  to  receive  it ;  "  for  it  is  .manifested 
only  to  such  as  have  by  development  of  the  Inner  Man 
rendered  themselves  capable  of  apprehending  it.  Ma- 
terialism dismisses  all  consideration  of  the  Logos  as 
"  mystical,"  and  therefore,  from  its  point  of  view,  of 
no  significance  or  value  ;  and  it  is  the  materialists  who 
are  referred  to  by  Lambert  as  those  devoured  by  the 
communication  of  the  Word.  Their  darkness  cannot 
comprehend  the  Light.  They  have  elected  to  continue 
in  the  world  of  phenomena ;  that  is,  according  to  the 
oldest  of  wisdom-religions  and  philosophies,  to  remain 
under  the  spell  of  Maya,  the  spirit  of  Illusion.  It  is 
possible  so  to  live  and  not  to  miss  much.  Those  who 
are  content  with  what  the  phenomenal  world  offers 
escape  much  suffering  for  the  moment,  —  but  at  a  great 
ultimate  cost  to  themselves. 

The  Word  engenders  matter ;  in  fact,  it  is  the  centre 
of  the  Cosmos,  and  it  is  only  by  union  with  it  that  man 
can  overcome  the  bonds  of  necessity,  and  raise  himself 
to  the  highest  powers  of  which  he  is  capable.  This 


Introduction. 


xlv 


union  again  is  possible  only  through  the  cultivation  and 
discipline  of  the  Will,  —  that  Force  which  dominates  all 
others  in  nature,  and  which  may  be  developed  to  mar- 
vellous extent  both  for  good  and  evil.  Anger,  observes 
Lambert,  in  the  ninth  axiom,  like  all  manifestations  of 
passion,  is  a  current  of  human  force  which  operates 
electrically.  Anger,  in  so  far  as  it  embodies  malign 
volition,  is  closely  akin  to  what  the  superstitious  were 
wont  to  denominate  "  black  magic."  To  convert  it  into 
the  latter  it  is  only  necessary  to  intensify  the  manifes- 
tation. The  benign  Will,  as  exhibited  in  the  phenom- 
ena of  what  is  called  Animal  Magnetism,  possesses 
well-attested  therapeutic  attributes.  With  or  without 
the  aid  of  the  Imagination  it  can  relieve  pain,  arrest 
morbid  processes,  and  restore  health.  The  co-operation 
of  the  Imagination  with  the  Will  facilitates  its  operation 
in  all  cases,  whether  benign  or  malignant.  The  history 
of  Witchcraft,  misinterpreted  by  materialist  historians, 
abounds  with  illustrations  of  this  truth,  which  is  to-day 
axiomatic  in  physiological  psychology.  According  to 
the  common  reading  of  those  strange  phenomena,  all 
the  charges  of  sorcery,  all  the  myriad  specifications  of 
physical  and  mental  injuries  sustained,  were  subjective 
delusions.  But  this  explanation  has  the  fatal  defect  of 
not  covering  the  phenomena.  The  evidence  that  in 
many  cases  those  who  accused  others  of  witchcraft 
really  had  suffered  injuries  is  at  least  as  strong  as  that 
upon  which  the  majority  of  historical  events  are  ac- 
cepted ;  nor  are  we  under  the  necessity  of  going  to  the 
Middle  Ages  for  proofs  of  phenomena  which  may  be 


xlvi 


Introduction. 


paralleled  in  our  own  times.  In  the  South  Seas  to-day 
there  is  a  tribe  of  savages  who  believe  that  it  is  prac- 
ticable for  one  man  to  pray  another  to  death ;  or,  in 
effect,  to  will  him  to  death.  Taken  alone  this  belief 
might  very  well  be  dismissed  as  a  delusion  ;  but  it  can- 
not be  taken  alone,  and  for  the  reason  that  it  is  based 
upon  facts.  In  the  island  referred  to  the  practice  of 
praying  enemies  to  death  is  actually  carried  out ;  and 
the  person  who  knows  that  his  adversar}7  is  about  to 
resort  to  this  practice  calmly  disposes  of  his  property, 
retires  to  his  hut,  composes  himself  on  his  bed,  and  in 
the  course  of  a  few  hours  dies. 

This  may  seem  incredible  to  those  who  do  not  under- 
stand the  relation  of  Will-power  to  vitality,  but  it  is 
capable  of  a  sufficiently  simple  physiological  solution. 
Every  physician  knows  and  acts  upon  the  fact  that  the 
cure  of  disease  depends  largely  upon  the  will  of  the 
patient.  If  the  latter  desires  strongly  to  live,  the  pro- 
cess of  recovery  is  facilitated.  If  on  the  contrary  there 
is  no  desire  of  life  present,  convalescence  is  retarded, 
and  not  seldom  it  is  impossible  to  prevent  a  fatal  ter- 
mination of  the  illness.  In  the  case  of  the  savages 
who  die  as  described,  without  any  apparent  organic 
lesion,  passing  in  a  few  hours  from  full  health  to  death, 
it  is  clear  that  the  prime  lethal  agent  is  paralysis  of  the 
will-force.  The  savage  fully  believes  that  he  is  doomed 
and  that  nothing  can  save  him.  From  that  moment 
not  only  does  he  cease  to  evince  that  desire  for  life 
which  underlies  all  healthy  vital  action,  but  his  vital 
powers  are  depressed  by  the  expectation  of  death,  and 


Introduction. 


xlvii 


the  unalterable  conviction  that  it  will  occur.  In  such 
a  state  it  is  conceivable  that  the  imagination  of  the 
subject  himself  might  cause  his  death.  That  in  the 
absence  of  any  external  emphyyment  of  malign  volition, 
such  a  result  may  ensue  has  been  demonstrated  by  the 
experiment  of  causing  prisoners  to  believe  that  they  had 
slept  in  beds  which  had  been  used  by  cholera  patients. 
In  this  case  the  men  took  the  cholera,  and  some  died 
of  it,  though  the  beds  had  really  not  been  exposed  to 
infection. 

The  fact  that  Fear  can  kill  is  moreover  so  familiar 
that  in  the  East  it  has  been  made  the  subject  of  a  popu- 
lar proverb  in  connection  with  the  Plague ;  and  this 
Fear  which  reacts  so  fatally  upon  the  physical  organism 
is  Imagination  made  morbid  b}T  the  paralysis  of  Will, 
as  in  the  other  cases  cited  above.  Much  has  been  made 
of  the  remark  that  Superstition  dies  as  Knowledge  ad- 
vances ;  but  the  remark  is  only  a  half-truth,  and,  like  all 
half-truths,  is  misleading.  To  suppose  that  because  the 
common  belief  in  Witchcraft  has  disappeared,  therefore 
Witchcraft  was  a  mere  hallucination,  or  that  there- 
fore the  agencies  and  influences  which  caused  Witch- 
craft have  been  eliminated,  would  be  great  mistakes. 
At  the  present  moment  those  agencies  and  influences 
flourish  as  vigorously  as  ever.  The  only  changes  that 
have  taken  place  have  been  in  the  lines  of  their  mani- 
festation. The  people  who  are  panic-stricken  by  an 
epidemic  of  cholera  or  yellow  fever  or  typhoid,  are 
lineal  descendants  of  the  people  who  two  hundred  years 
ago  believed  that  they  could  be  bewitched  by  some  old 


xlviii 


Introduction. 


woman,  and  who  in  numberless  instances  were  undoubt- 
edly more  or  less  bewitched  because  of  that  belief. 
Anger,  fanaticism,  all  the  passions,  observes  Louis 
Lambert,  "  are  living  Forces.  These  Forces,  when  ex- 
ercised by  certain  beings,  become  rivers  of  Will-power 
which  embrace  and  sweep  away  everything."  History 
is  full  of  the  most  striking  illustrations  of  the  truth  of 
this,  and  daily  life  presents  perpetual  instances  in  point. 
Moreover,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  all  these  Forces  op- 
erate most  freely  and  powerfully  upon  the  least  disci- 
plined minds,  and  control  most  easily  the  simple  and  the 
ignorant.  In  those  strange  epidemics  of  the  Middle 
Ages  recorded  by  Hecker  —  the  dancing-mania,  the 
Flagellants,  the  Child  Pilgrimages  —  sympathetic  con- 
tagion alone  sufficed  to  establish  and  disseminate  mor- 
bid affections  which  persisted  through  three  centuries 
and  disturbed  the  whole  continent  of  Europe.  At  a 
much  later  period  the  extraordinary  phenomena  exhib- 
ited by  the  Convulsionnaires  of  St.  Medard  reproduced 
most  of  the  mediaeval  symptoms  and  effects.  During 
the  last  century  the  "  Jumpers  ?'  in  this  country  marked 
a  recrudescence  of  the  old  nervous  diseases,  and  from 
time  to  time  during  the  past  thousand  years  there  have 
been  outbreaks  of  the  same  strange  contagions, — the 
negro  camp-meeting  being  the  most  modern  survival  of 
them. 

In  these  cases,  however,  what  operates  is  suggestive 
of  a  blind  and  unintelligent  Force.  It  is  not  really  that, 
nor  is  the  line  of  demarcation  between  these  manias  and 
the  convulsive  social  and  political  movements  caused  by 


Introduction. 


xlix 


apparent  intellectual  suasion,  nearly  so  broad  as  at  first 
sight  it  may  seem  to  be.  For  while  the  first  incitements 
to  movements  of  fanaticism  are  usually  in  the  guise  of 
argument  or  dogmatic  assertion  professing  to  reveal 
great  truths,  these  movements  always  degenerate  rap- 
idly and  become  in  the  end  automatic  and  irrepressible. 
This  has  been  the  process  followed  by  every  great  per- 
secution, by  man}-  great  revolutions,  and  by  most  agita- 
tions the  work  of  which  is  finally  determined  by  numbers 
and  not  by  brains.  Thus  the  fanaticism  which  made. 
Islam  a  conquering  power  depended  but  a  short  time 
upon  intellectual  considerations.  Thus  the  Eeign  of 
Terror  grew  out  of  that  French  Revolution  which  was 
begun  by  the  peaceful  philosophers  of  the  Encyclopaedia. 
Thus,  in  China,  during  our  own  time,  the  Tae-Ping  re- 
bellion changed  from  an  attempt  to  establish  free  reli- 
gious thought  into  a  blind  and  general  butchery.  The 
44  living  Forces"  spoken  of  by  Lambert,  in  all  these 
and  many  other  instances  asserted  themselves  over  the 
feeble  volition  of  the  masses,  and  set  the  latter  in  paths 
whose  direction  they  could  not  perceive,  and  whose 
destination  they  would  never  have  striven  to  reach  of 
their  own  motion.  They  were  carried  away,  as  Balzac 
puts  it,  by  "rivers  of  Will,"  and  similar  effects  are  to 
be  recognized  in  all  popular  agitations  involving  what 
is  called  enthusiasm.  The  part  played  by  Reason  on  all 
such  occasions  is  notoriously  subordinate.  The  crowd  is 
moved  by  its  sympathies,  not  by  its  intellect,  and  its 
sympathies  usually  signify  neither  more  nor  less  than  its 
responsiveness  to  the  power  exerted  by  the  superior  Will. 

4 


I 


Introduction. 


According  to  Lambert,  Will  and  Thought  are  living 
forces,  and  he  employed  the  phenomena  of  mesmerism 
to  support  his  theory  that  Will-force  could  be  accumu- 
lated and  emitted  in  such  a  manner  as  to  affect  not  only 
other  and  weaker  or  less  developed  or  prepared  Wills, 
but  to  operate  upon  inorganic  matter.  Long  after  Bal- 
zac wrote,  an  English  physician,  Dr.  B.  W.  Richard- 
son, published  a  treatise  entitled  "  Theoiyof  a  Nervous 
Ether."  In  this  he  suggested  that  there  may  be,  "in 
addition  to  a  nervous  fluid,  a  gas,  or  vapor,  pervading 
the  whole  nervous  organism,  surrounding,  as  an  envel- 
oping atmosphere,  each  molecule  or  nervous  structure, 
and  forming  the  medium  of  the  influences  transmitted 
from  a  nerve-centre  to  the  periphery  and  from  the  per- 
iphery to  the  nerve-centre."  The  resemblance  of  ner- 
vous to  electric  force  also  impressed  itself  strongly 
upon  Sir  Benjamin  Brodie,  who  observes  that  "the 
transmission  of  impressions  from  one  part  of  the  ner- 
vous system  to  another,  or  from  the  nervous  sj^stem  to 
the  muscular  and  glandular  structure,  has  a  nearer  re- 
semblance to  the  effects  produced  by  the  imponderable 
agents  than  to  anything  else.  It  seems  very  probable, 
indeed,  that  the  nervous  force  is  some  modification  of 
that  force  which  produces  the  phenomena  of  electricity 
and  magnetism."  Here  we  have  an  almost  complete 
scientific  parallelism  with  Balzac's  hypothesis.  The 
recent  researches  by  the  Salpetriere  school  of  French 
physiologists  into  the  phenomena  of  what  is  called  hyp- 
notism have  produced  in  many  minds  an  erroneous 
impression.    From  the  time  of  Braid's  experiments  the 


Introduction. 


li 


line  of  scientific  inquiry  may  be  said  to  have  been  con- 
trolled by  a  dominant  idea,  —  the  idea,  namely,  that 
all  the  phenomena  of  animal  magnetism  could  be  pro- 
duced and  explained  without  calling  in  the  aid  or  as 
suming  the  existence  of  any  external  influence  upon 
the  patient  other  than  physical  and  material.  The 
theory  of  a  fluid  of  any  kind  projected  by  the  mag- 
hetizer  was  repugnant  to  the  scientific  mind,  which  in- 
deed could  only  be  induced  to  resume  an  investigation 
which  had  been  several  times  abandoned,  by  the  sug- 
gestion that  the  subject  might  be  elucidated  on  purely 
materialistic  lines.  The  hypothesis  which  explains 
Mind  as  a  function  of  Body,  and  which  has  been  main- 
tained by  Ribot,  Maudsley,  Hammond,  and  others, 
could  not  tolerate  phenomena  which  were  incapable  of 
solution  upon  that  assumption.  At  first,  and  so  long 
as  the  experiments  of  Charcot,  Richet,  and  their  col- 
leagues and  followers  were  made  altogether  upon  hysteri- 
cal subjects,  the  physical  theory  appeared  to  be  strongly 
confirmed.  It  was  found  possible  to  do  all  that  Braid 
had  done,  and  more,  by  material  agents.  The  hyp- 
notic states  could  be  produced  by  fixing  the  patient's  eyes 
upon  any  bright  object ;  by  directing  the  gaze  upward  ; 
by  simply  inducing  artificial  strabismus  ;  and  finally,  by 
suggestion.  In  the  conditions  thus  produced  it  was 
found  that  the  patient  could  be  made  to  do  anything ; 
that  directions  from  without  appeared  to  control  the 
hypnotized  intelligence,  to  suspend  the  judgment,  to 
obscure  the  moral  sense,  in  fact  to  transform  the  sub- 
ject into  a  complete  automaton. 


lii 


Introduction. 


But  as  the  inquiry  proceeded  it  appeared  that  the 
exceptions  to  the  supposed  laws  of  hypnotism  were  so 
many  and  various  as  to  compel  pause  and  perhaps  to 
necessitate  reclassification.  The  theory  that  the  mag- 
netizer  exercised  no  personal  influence  did  not  hold 
good  in  a  number  of  cases.  On  the  other  hand,  it  did 
appear  that  frequently  the  influence  of  the  magnetizer 
was  profound  and  absorbing, —  so  much  so  that  the  sub- 
ject was  deaf  and  blind  and  oblivious  to  the  presence, 
speech,  and  action  of  any  and  all  other  persons  during 
the  seance.  There  was,  then,  clearly  a  rapport  between 
magnetizer  and  magnetized,  and  one  which  could  only 
be  explained  upon  some  telepathic  theory.  In  a  recent 
work  on  animal  magnetism  by  MM.  Binet  and  Fere,  of 
the  Salpetriere,  while  the  bias  of  the  authors  against 
psychical  interpretation  is  so  marked  as  to  detract  from 
the  value  of  their  statements  in  several  instances,  they 
are  constrained  to  admit  that,  u  although  the  operator's 
personality  has  not  the  importance  which  was  formerly 
ascribed  to  it,  yet  it  cannot  be  said  to  be  altogether 
negative."  This  personal  influence  they  wish  to  get 
rid  of  by  attributing  it  to  an  "elective  affinity,"  but 
they  would  be  puzzled  to  define  the  meaning  of  that 
phrase.  They  proceed  further  :  "  The  Abbe  Faria,  who 
induced  sleep  by  intimation,  has  clearly  shown  that 
hypnosis  may  be  effected  by  psychical  action.  His 
process  consisted  in  desiring  the  subject,  in  an  impe- 
rious voice,  to  go  to  sleep ;  and  sometimes,  without  ut- 
tering a  word,  a  commanding  gesture  was  enough  to 
effect  his  purpose."    In  these  cases  the  Abbe  Faria  in- 


Introduction. 


liii 


duced  the  hypnotic  sleep  by  the  direct  exertion  of  his 
Will-power.  MM.  Binet  and  Fere,  however,  make  a 
still  more  significant  admission  in  combating  those  the- 
orists who  seek  to  explain  hypnotic  phenomena  upon 
the  ground  of  expectancy,  attention,  suggestion,  or 
some  other  single  agency.  They  say:  "  These  asser- 
tions are  too  absolute.  A  whole  series  of  purely  phys- 
ical agents  exist  which  prove  that  sleep  can  be  induced 
without  the  aid  of  the  subject's  imagination,  against  his 
will,  and  without  his  knowledge."  What  are  these 
"  purely  physical  agents?"  When  carefully  examined 
the  assumption  that  they  are  purely  physical  appears 
gratuitous.  "  It  has  often  been  said,"  the  same  au- 
thors observe,  "  that  the  psychical  element  in  hyp- 
nosis vitiates  all  the  attempts  to  give  a  physical 
explanation  of  this  state."  That  is  the  truth,  nor 
have  MM.  Binet  and  Fere  succeeded  where  all  their 
predecessors  and  contemporaries,  from  Braid  to  Char- 
cot, have  failed. 

To  study  animal  magnetism  most  profitably  it  is  de- 
sirable that  the  inquiry  should  be  pursued  in  Oriental 
countries,  inasmuch  as  the  education  of  the  Will  and  its 
exercise  upon  both  Man  and  Nature  have  been  pursued 
in  those  countries  from  time  immemorial,  and  with  re- 
sults which,  when  contrasted  with  the  empirical  studies 
of  Western  scientists,  cause  the  latter  to  assume  an 
almost  puerile  aspect.  In  India  the  application  of  Will- 
power has  been  carried  to  lengths  which  not  long  ago 
would  have  been  thought  incredible  in  Europe  or  Amer- 
ica ;  but  recent  investigations  are  opening  the  eyes  of 


liv 


Introduction. 


the  Western  nations  to  the  scope  of  a  Natural  Force  pre- 
viously ignored  or  misunderstood.  Balzac  speaks  of 
the  capacity  of  human  Will-force  for  evil.  Hypnotic  re- 
search has  revealed  some  surprises  in  this  direction. 
The  phenomena  of  suggested  action  have  proved  that  it 
is  possible,  by  putting  a  sensitive  person  into  one  of  the 
hypnotic  states,  to  impress  upon  his  mind  as  necessary 
to  be  done  even  the  most  criminal  act ;  and  that  the  per- 
petration of  this  criminal  act  may  be  set  for  some  dis- 
tant date  by  the  magnetizer  who  suggests  it,  without  in 
the  least  impairing  the  endurance  of  the  influence  or  the 
fixedness  of  the  mental  impressions  which  induce  it.  So 
broad  is  the  field  of  possibility,  so  startling  are  the  ideas 
opened  up  by  these  experiments,  that  already  several 
treatises  have  been  written  on  the  medico-legal  aspects 
of  the  subject,  and  from  one  of  these,  by  Dr.  Gilles  de  la 
Tourette,  some  facts  may  be  derived.  The  appearance 
of  hypnotism  as  a  criminal  agency  has  appeared  surpris- 
ing and  alarming  to  the  public  everywhere.  In  Lord 
Lytton's  "  Strange  Story,"  where  the  murder  of  Sir 
Philip  Derval  is  ascribed  to  suggestion,  imposed  by 
Margrave  upon  a  man  of  weak  mind,  perhaps  the  first 
use  was  made  of  the  lethal  possibilities  of  animal  mag- 
netism as  a  motive  for  fiction.  No  reported  case  of 
alienism,  however,  no  Salpetriere  experiment,  is  more 
fully  in  accord  with  morbid  pathology  than  the  processes 
described  in  that  romance  ;  and  the  most  extraordinary 
feature  of  it,  namely  the  appearance  of  the  scin-loeca, 
or  shining  shadow,  on  the  wall  of  the  murderer's  cell, 
can  be  paralleled  from  the  actual  declarations  of  crimi- 


Introduction. 


Iv 


nals.,  whose  apparently  insane  ravings  convinced  medical 
experts  of  their  irresponsibilitj^. 

In  France,  however,  there  have  been  a  number  of  cases 
in  the  courts  of  late  years,  in  which  hypnotism  has 
played  an  important  part.  Dr.  de  la  Tourette  relates 
several  of  these  cases,  and  among  others  the  remarkable 
one  of  a  criminal  named  Castellan.  In  1865,  in  the 
Commune  of  Sollies-Farlide  (Var),  there  lived  a  farmer 
named  Hughes,  who  had  a  daughter  named  Josephine, 
twenty-six  years  of  age.  One  day  a  sort  of  tramp,  a 
disreputable  fellow  named  Timothy  Castellan,  lounged 
into  the  Hughes  farmhouse,  and  was  asked  to  have 
dinner.  During  the  meal  it  was  noticed  that  he  looked 
fixedly  and  often  at  Josephine,  who  appeared  somewhat 
confused.  The  meal  finished,  the  household  separated, 
and  Josephine  was  left  in  the  house  alone.  Castellan 
went  a  short  distance  away,  but  soon  returned,  and  what 
followed  was  ascertained  from  the  statements  of  the  girl, 
the  confession  of  Castellan,  and  the  observation  of  people 
in  neighboring  villages.  In  effect,  this  dirty,  hideous, 
and  in  all  ways  repulsive  tramp  so  imposed  his  will 
upon  the  poor  girl  that  she  followed  him  out  of  her 
father's  house,  accompanied  him  like  a  dog  through  the 
woods  and  fields,  slept  with  him  in  barns  and  stables, 
and  submitted  to  the  most  dreadful  abuse  at  his  hands. 
During  the  continuance  of  this  obsession,  so  to  speak, 
she  appeared  to  those  who  saw  her  and  knew  nothing  of 
the  facts,  to  be  half-witted.  By  turns  she  denounced 
and  coaxed  her  companion.  Now  she  was  furious,  anon 
submissive.    But  she  always  ended  by  doing  what  he 


Ivi 


Introduction. 


told  her,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  he  even  made 
exhibition  of  his  power  over  her,  by  compelling  her  to 
crawl  across  the  room  to  him  on  her  knees.  In  truth,  a 
prolonged  and  terrible  combat  between  his  will  and  hers 
was  going  on  all  this  time.  When  the  concentration  of 
his  was  relaxed,  hers  would  gain  the  ascendency,  but  the 
moment  his  attention  became  fixed  upon  her  she  found 
herself  helpless  ;  and  what  was  more,  she  could  not  then 
even  continue  to  loathe  and  revolt  from  the  brute,  but 
was  strongly  and  against  her  inclination  drawn  to  him. 
After  several  days  of  this  fearful  experience.  Josephine 
made  her  escape  while  Castellan  was  held  in  conversation 
by  some  people  they  had  met  in  the  road,  and  once  sepa- 
rated from  him  her  volition  began  to  act  independently, 
and  she  was  presently  able,  though  not  without  difficult}', 
to  relate  the  facts.  Castellan  was  arrested,  admitted 
the  truth  of  his  victim's  statements,  and  volunteered  the 
information  that  he  had  "  served  many  women  the  same 
way,"  previously.  According  to  custom  the  facts  of  the 
case  were  submitted  to  medical  experts  for  their  opinion. 
MM.  Auban  and  Jules  Roux  were  the  referees,  and  the}', 
following,  as  they  declared  in  their  report,  the  conclusions 
of  the  doctors  Tardieu,  Devergie,  Coste,  and  Broquier, 
of  the  Marseilles  School  of  Medicine,  held  that  "  by 
the  manipulations  called  magnetic,  it  is  possible  to 
exert,  upon  the  will  of  any  person  exceptionally  disposed 
by  nervous  temperament,  such  an  influence  that  his  (or 
her)  moral  freedom  may  be  perverted,  or  more  or  less 
completely  destroyed."  Three  other  physicians,  chosen 
by  the  jury,  endorsed  this  and  all  the  other  conclusions  of 


Introduction. 


Ivii 


MM.  Auban  and  Roux,  and  Castellan  received  a  sen- 
tence of  twelve  years'  imprisonment.  In  this  case  it  is 
to  be  observed  that  the  state  produced  in  the  victim  was 
not  what  is  called  "  profound  hypnosis,"  but  a  condition 
of  semi-consciousness  in  which  all  her  volitional  capaci- 
ties and  tendencies  were  held  in  suspension.  The  paral- 
ysis, moreover,  as  recognized  by  the  medical  experts, 
was  moral  no  less  than  physical.  She  could  not  offer 
bodily  resistance,  nor  could  she  even  oppose  a  consistent 
or  sustained  psychical  resistance.  The  domination 
while  it  lasted  was  almost  complete,  and  it  was  unmis- 
takably the  domination  of  Will-force. 

The  implications  of  this  case  were  so  serious  that  it 
caused  a  great  sensation.  In  India  the  malignant  pos- 
sibilities of  Will-powver  have  been  understood  for  ages, 
and  evil  men  have  systematically  availed  themselves  of 
this  formidable  aid  to  their  undertakings.  Thus  the 
Bheels  and  Thugs,  organized  bodies  of  thieves  and  as- 
sassins who  inherited  the  most  dangerous  associations 
of  criminal  acts  with  religious  motives,  practised  what  is 
now  called  hypnotism  habitually.  In  this  way  the  Thugs 
anaesthetized  the  predestined  victims  of  the  fatal  scarf, 
and  avoided  all  struggles  and  resistance.  The  same 
agency  was  resorted  to  by  gangs  of  child-stealers  who 
infested  the  country,  and  Dr.  Esdaile,  who  introduced 
animal  magnetism  as  an  anaesthetic  to  the  Calcutta 
hospitals,  had  a  curious  experience  with  a  case  of  this 
kind.  One  day  he  saw  a  strange  Hindu  leading  a  little 
boy  along  the  street,  and  it  struck  him  that  the  child 
did  not  seem  to  be  accompanying  the  man  willingly. 


Iviii 


Introduction. 


Thereupon,  suspecting  abduction,  he  stopped  and  pro- 
ceeded to  question  the  stranger,  whose  answers,  though 
shrewd,  were  not  altogether  satisfactory.  Next  the  boy 
was  examined,  but  he  appeared  to  be  in  a  dazed  state. 
At  first  the  operation  of  a  narcotic  was  suspected,  but 
by  degrees  the  child's  wits  returned  to  him,  and  then 
all  he  could  say  was  that  the  man  had  beckoned  to  him 
as  he  was  standing  near  his  father's  house  ;  that  he  had 
been  drawn  to  the  man's  side,  he  could  not  tell  how ; 
and  that  was  all  he  remembered  or  could  state.  It 
turned  out  that  the  abductor  had  carried  the  boy  a  long 
distance  —  many  day's  journeys —  with  him,  but  the 
spell  was  not  broken  during  this  time.  Dr.  Esdaile  sub- 
sequently experimented  upon  several  of  his  hospital 
patients,  and  found  that  he  could  hypnotize  the  majority 
of  them  with  ease,  and  cause  them  to  carry  out  his 
suggestions. 

Balzac  intimates  a  belief  that  the  power  of  the  human 
Will  may  under  proper  conditions  be  exercised  apprecia- 
bly upon  inanimate  objects.  Now  Arago,  in  a  report 
to  the  French  Academy  of  Sciences,  stated  the  con- 
clusion that,  "  under  peculiar  conditions,  the  human 
organization  gives  forth  a  physical  power,  which,  with- 
out visible  instruments,  lifts  heavy  bodies,  attracts  or 
repels  them  according  to  a  law  of  polarity,  overturns 
them,  and  produces  the  phenomena  of  sound."  This  is 
in  effect  a  definition  of  the  u  Psychic  Force"  postulated 
by  Sergeant  Cox.  In  a  curious  essay  by  Francis  Gerry 
Fairfield,  directed  toward  the  explanation  of  the  physical 
phenomena  of  Spiritualism,  a  somewhat  similar  position 


Introduction. 


lix 


is  taken,  —  the  author  positing  a  "  nervo-dynamic"  pro- 
cess as  the  agency  by  which  the  lifting  and  overthrowing 
of  heavy  bodies,  without  apparent  contact,  is  produced. 
This  writer  endeavors,  however,  to  trace  a  connection 
between  the  physical  conditions  which  give  rise  to  such 
phenomena  and  the  pathological  state  known  as  lar- 
vated  epilepsy,  and  here  he  becomes  an  unsafe  guide. 
In  India  the  purely  physical  nature  of  a  large  class  of 
phenomena  which  in  the  West  have  been  ascribed  to 
disembodied  intelligences,  is  demonstrated  by  the  fre- 
quent production  of  identical  effects  through  the  con- 
centration of  the  Will  by  trained  experts.  The  Indian 
conjurers,  many  of  whose  feats  have  completely  baffled 
all  attempts  at  solution  by  Europeans,  pretend  that 
they  are  helped  by  the  Pitris  or  ancestral  spirits.  But 
there  are  many  Fakirs  who  produce  quite  as  surprising 
and  inexplicable  phenomena  solely,  as  they  affirm,  by 
the  disciplined  exercise  of  Will-power.  Much  informa- 
tion on  this  head  may  be  found  in  the  works  of  Jacolliot, 
and  thousands  of  Anglo-Indians  have  had  personal  ex- 
periences of  the  same  kind.  Among  the  commoner 
feats  so  performed,  are  the  imparting  of  motion  to 
inanimate  objects ;  the  extinction  of  lamps  or  candles 
at  a  distance  ;  the  apparent  suspension  of  gravitation 
by  alterations  in  the  weight  or  the  mobility  of  heavy 
articles ;  the  imposition  of  temporary  paralysis  upon 
one  or  more  of  the  spectators.  To  these  and  similar 
phenomena  might  be  added  the  production  of  illusions 
and  hallucinations, — Maya,  as  the  Hindus  term  it, — 
by  reason  of  which  those  present  are  caused  to  ascribe 


Ix 


Introduction. 


objective  existence  to  appearances  which  are  really  sub- 
jective. The  rarity  of  authentic  records  of  collective 
hallucination  in  the  West  has  led  to  doubts  concerning 
its  possibilit}'.  This  rarity,  however,  may  plausibly  be 
explained  by  the  prevailing  Western  neglect  of  voli- 
tional training  and  discipline.  But  it  must  not  be 
overlooked  that  in  the  Orient  the  claims  of  thaumaturgy 
are  wide,  and  that  the  Yogis  assert  their  mastery  over 
natural  forces  the  manipulation  of  which  is  as  yet 
beyond  the  reach  of  Western  science.  Such  an  agent 
they  represent  to  be  the  Akasa,  which  is  closety  allied 
to  if  not  identical  with  the  Hyle  of  the  Greeks,  and  the 
"  Ethereal  Substance  "  of  Louis  Lambert.  The  Akasa  is 
a  subtler  force  than  electricity,  and  capable  only  of  psy- 
chical control.  The  description  of  Vril,  in  Lord  Lytton's 
"  Coming  Race  "  is  in  fact  that  of  Akasa.  It  is  "  the 
all-permeating  fluid."  It  "  is  capable  of  being  raised  and 
disciplined  into  the  mightiest  agency  over  all  forms  of 
matter,  animate  or  inanimate.  It  can  destro}^  like  the 
flash  of  lightning ;  yet,  differently  applied,  it  can  re- 
plenish or  invigorate  life,  heal  and  preserve,  and  on  it 
they  (the  Vril-ya)  chiefly  rety  for  the  cure  of  disease,  or 
rather  for  enabling  the  physical  organization  to  re- 
establish the  due  equilibrium  of  its  natural  powers,  and 
thereby  to  cure  itself."  This  subtle  and  potent  fluid 
falls  under  the  dominion  of  the  cultivated  and  en- 
lightened Will,  and  extends  the  potential^  of  the  latter 
almost  indefinitely. 

There  is  a  modern  form  of  scepticism  which  is  en- 
titled to  no  respect,  inasmuch  as  it  is  grounded  in 


Introduction. 


Ixi 


ignorance,  not  merely  of  Oriental,  but  of  Occidental 
science.  The  true  man  of  science  in  either  hemisphere 
rightly  considers  incredulity  not  less  dangerous  than 
credulity.  Dr.  Abercrombie  well  observes  that  "while 
an  unbounded  credulity  is  the  part  of  a  weak  mind,  which 
never  thinks  or  reasons  at  all,  an  unlimited  scepticism 
is  the  part  of  a  contracted  mind,  which  reasons  upon 
imperfect  data,  or  makes  its  own  knowledge  and  extent 
of  observation  the  standard  and  test  of  probability." 
In  the  same  broad  spirit  Dr.  Lee  writes :  "  Reasoners 
who  base  their  arguments  upon  the  hitherto  known  laws 
of  nature  do  not  consider  how  limited  is  our  knowledge 
of  those  laws ;  that  this  knowledge  is  continually  ex- 
tending and  opening  out  new  prospects  to  our  view  ; 
and  that  any  people's  or  any  individual's  experience  of 
them  depends  in  great  measure  upon  the  circumstances 
under  which  the  population  or  the  individual  is  placed, 
the  degree  of  mental  culture  possessed  by  them,  and 
the  opportunities  afforded  them  for  acquiring  the  requi- 
site information ;  and,  moreover,  that  a  circumscribed 
knowledge  can  never  be  allowed  to  disprove  positive 
and  well-authenticated  facts,  however  improbable  they 
may  appear  to  be."  In  considering  the  subject  of  Will- 
force,  however,  a  far  too  general  lack  of  information  has 
\o  be  met  in  regard  to  the  position  of  Western  science. 
In  fact,  the  advances  made  in  physiological  psychology 
during  the  past  twenty  years  have  given  a  marked  im- 
petus to  liberalism.  The  extent  of  the  influence  of 
Mind  upon  Body  was  never  before  so  fully  recognized, 
as  may  be  seen  in  the  following  extract  from  the  con- 


Ixii 


Introduction. 


eluding  chapter  of  Dr.  Tuke's  important  work,  cited 
above.    "  We  have  seen,"  he  says,  "  that  the  influence 
of  the  Mind  upon  the  Body  is  no  transient  power ;  that 
in  health  it  may  exalt  the  sensory  functions,  or  suspend 
them  altogether ;  excite  the  nervous  system  so  as  to 
cause  the  various  forms  of  convulsive  action  of  the 
voluntary  muscles,  or  depress  it  so  as  to  render  them 
powerless;  may  stimulate  or  paralyze  the  muscles  of 
organic  life,  and  the  processes  of  nutrition  and  secre- 
tion, causing  even  death  ;  that  in  disease  it  may  restore 
the  functions  which  it  takes  away  in  health,  re-innerva- 
ting the  sensory  and  motor  nerves,  exciting  healthy 
vascularity  and  nervous  power,  and  assisting  the  vis 
medicatrix  Nature®  to  throw  off  diseased  action  or 
absorb  morbid  deposits."    All  this  is  admitted  to  be 
within  the  power  of  Mind  and  Will.   Meantime  a  great 
body  of  evidence  is  accumulating  which  must  force  men 
of  science  more  and  more  strongly  toward  those  conclu- 
sions they  have  been  so  reluctant  to  approach.    In  the 
phenomena  of  hypnotic  suggestion  an  avenue  is  opened 
through  which  Western  Science  may  approach  the  posi- 
tions so  long  held  by  the  sages  of  the  East.    In  the 
medico-legal  aspects  of  animal  magnetism,  as  in  the 
phenomena  of  telepathy,  will  be  found  the  finger-posts 
which  point  to  the  operation  of  Mind  and  Will  at  a 
distance.     In  all  the  inquiries  now  proceeding  into 
obscure  psychical  and  quasi-neural  phenomena,  the  in- 
dications point  in  the  same  general  direction.  Nor 
need  those  who  have  long  since  satisfied  themselves  of 
the  superior  psychological  knowledge  of  the  Orient,  be 


Introduction. 


Ixiii 


impatient  or  intolerant  of  the  slow  and  unfriendly  prog- 
ress of  Western  Science  toward  affiliation  with  its  elder 
sister.  For  no*  greater  triumph  of  Truth,  no  stronger 
proof  of  the  genuineness  of  the  conclusions  of  Eastern 
occult' science,  can  be  had,  than  the  confirmation  of  its 
doctrines  by  a  body  of  students  working  from  contrary 
directions,  by  opposed  methods,  and  in  a  sceptical  and 
hostile  spirit. 

In  the  twelfth  axiom  Lambert  treats  of  the  world  of 
Ideas.  "  Facts,"  he  asserts,  "  are  nothing  ;  they  do  not 
exist ;  Ideas  alone  subsist."  This  affirmation,  paradox- 
ical as  it  appears,  is  at  the  basis  of  all  philosophy. 
From  the  Vedas  to  Plato,  from  Plato  to  Kant,  the 
impermanence  of  phenomena  and  the  impossibility  of 
knowing  the  noumenal  have  been  posited.  All  knowl- 
edge of  phenomena  is  merely  a  question  of  sensuous 
percipiency,  and  all  that  we  can  attain  to  is  Ideas. 
Lambert  divides  the  world  of  Ideas  into  three  spheres  : 
that  of  Instinct,  that  of  Abstraction,  and  that  of  Spe- 
ciality or  Specialization.  This  nomenclature  might  have 
been  more  felicitous,  the  terms  having  acquired  such 
different  conventional  meanings  that  it  may  be  difficult 
to  avoid  misapprehension  in  speaking  of  them.  The 
masses  of  men,  he  goes  on,  occupy  the  sphere  of  In- 
stinct, in  which  they  continue  for  the  most  part  without 
rising  to  the  second  sphere,  —  that,  namely,  of  Abstrac- 
tion. Desbarrolles  accused  Balzac  of  a  contradiction 
because  in  the  fifteenth  axiom  he  says  that  between 
the  spheres  of  Instinct  and  Abstraction  there  are  beings 
who  partake  of  both  qualities.    But  the  contradiction  is 


7 


J 


lxiv  Introduction. 

not  real,  for  in  the  fourteenth  axiom  lie  evidently  in- 
tends merely  to  imply  that  the  great  majority  of  the 
Instinctives  remain  where  they  are.  The  sphere  of  In- 
stinct is  that  in  which  Thought  is  little  exercised,  Voli- 
tion is  weak,  the  animal  tendencies  are  strong,  and  the 
man  is  little  more  than  one  of  the  automatons  of  Des- 
cartes, —  an  instrument  to  be  pla}'ed  upon  by  both  the 
Abstractives  and  the  Specialists.  The  sphere  of  Instinct 
in  the  world  of  Ideas  is  also  that  which  connects  it  with 
the  grosser  modifications  of  Matter,  those  manifestations 
which  are  called  distinctively  material.  The  sphere  of 
Instinct  is  that  of  savagery,  and  largely  also  that  of 
barbarism ;  but  it  may,  and  no  doubt  does,  include  the 
lower  phases  of  civilization,  and  it  comprehends  all  who 
live  sordidly  without  the  desire  of  growth,  material  or 
spiritual ;  who  accept  degradation  as  normal ;  whose 
organization  is  so  defective  that  they  are  unfitted  to  be 
the  vehicles  of  exalted  and  evolutionary  forces. 

"  Society  begins  at  Abstraction."  This  is  a  great 
advance  upon  the  sphere  of  Instinct.  Civilization  is 
engendered  by  Abstraction.  Laws,  arts,  social  systems, 
spring  from  it.  It  is,  in  the  words  of  Lambert,  "  the 
glory  and  the  scourge  of  the  world,  —  the  glory,  be- 
cause it  has  created  Society ;  the  scourge,  because  it 
hinders  Man  from  entering  Speciality,  which  is  one  of 
the  pathwaj's  to  the  Infinite."  That  is  to  say,  the 
sphere  of  Abstraction  is  that  of  materialist  civilization. 
The  qualities  which  shine  most  in  this  sphere  are  those 
which  produce  the  greatest  material  effects  ;  which  cre- 
ate wealth  and  luxury  and  art  and  architecture  and 


Introduction. 


Ixv 


the  lower  forms  of  poetry  ;  and  which  contribute  to  the 
gratification  of  all  the  lusts  of  the  eyes  and  the  "  pride 
of  life."  All  purely  intellectual  life  is  included  in  this 
classification ;  for  the  dry  light  of  \he  Intellect  can  never 
illuminate  those  higher  spaces  which  are  capable  of 
being  reached  and  searched  by  the  inner  illumination 
of  the  spirit  alone.  But  the  pride  of  Intellect  neces- 
sarily rebels  against  the  doctrine  that  there  can  be  any 
faculty  superior  to  itself.  Concerned  wholly  with  ap- 
pearances, it  surrenders  itself  more  and  more  to  im- 
plicit belief  in  their  realitj^,  rejecting  its  own  irrefutable 
knowledge  of  their  impermanence  as  u  metaphysics," 
and  seeking  physical  bases  for  all  forms  of  life  the  more 
eagerly  for  that  it  is  conscious  of  the  limitations  of  its 
research.  This  is  why  Abstraction  diverts  man  from 
Speciality,  —  even  from  the  endeavor  to  attain  to  a  com- 
prehension of  it.  The  distinction  between  the  higher 
and  the  lower  spheres  drawn  by  Lambert  is  striking 
and  suggestive.  Abstractive  man  formulates  right  and 
wrong.  His  formulas  are  his  scales.  His  justice  is 
blind  ;  the  justice  of  God  sees,  — that  is  the  difference. 
In  the  sphere  of  the  Abstractive,  government  by  arbi- 
trary formulas  is  the  best  that  can  be  attained ;  but 
it  is  in  the  ultimate  analysis  crude  and  imperfect,  as 
testified  to.  every  da}7  in  all  civilized  societies  by  the 
inequities  resulting  from  laws  based  upon  broad  gener- 
alizations. Were  the  inherent  imperfection  of  all  such 
legislation  habitually  recognized  the  evils  incident  to  it 
would  be  less,  because  the  recognition  of  a  need  for 
higher  and  more  discriminating  rules  of  conduct  would 


Ixvi 


Introduction. 


then  tend  to  spiritual  progress  and  the  development  of 
-the  loftier  potentialities.  But  the  ruling  tendency  of 
materialist  civilization  is  toward  acceptance  of  the  ex- 
isting standards  of  judgment  as  the  best  possible,  or 
that  can  be  hoped  for ;  and  this  disposition  to  rest  con- 
tent with  imperfection  colors  and  influences  the  whole 
line  of  human  progress,  and  confirms  it  in  the  anti- 
spiritual  attitudes  it  has  taken  through  absorption  in 
phenomenal  existence. 

Speciality,  Lambert  continues,  in  the  sixteenth  axiom, 
consists  in  apprehending  at  the  same  time1  things  mate- 
rial and  things  spiritual,  both  in  their  origin  and  conse- 
quences. The  greatest  human  geniuses,  he  adds,  are 
those  wrho  have  left  the  darkness  of  Abstraction  to  at- 
tain the  illumination  of  Speciality.  The  Specialist  per- 
ceives things  in  their  entirety,  and  at  one  glance.  Jesus 
was  a  Specialist.  To  him,  past,  present,  and  future  were 
One.  The  gift  of  Specialization  is  the  product  of  the 
perfection  of  the  interior  vision.  It  includes  Intuition, 
which  is  defined  as  one  of  the  faculties  of  that  Inner 
Man  of  whom  Specialization  is  an  attribute.  Taine  did 
not  like  these  definitions.  He  complained  that  when 
Balzac  left  his  microscope  he  became  a  Swedenborgian ; 
and  he  echoed  the  common  protest  of  the  Abstractive^ 
against  the  incertitude  and  vagueness  of  the  intuitional 
knowledge,  apparently  forgetting  the  incertitude  and  lia- 
bility to  error  of  all  knowledge  within  the  reach  of  the 
human  mind  through  the  inductive  processes.  More- 
over, it  is  not  true  that  Balzac  is  in  any  sense  a  mere 
follower  of  Swedenborg.   Like  all  men  of  genius,  he 


Introduction. 


lxvii 


takes  the  good  and  true  wherever  he  finds  it ;  but  in 
the  theories  propounded  in  "Louis  Lambert"  the  refer- 
ences to  Swedenborg  are  found  chiefly  in  the  college 
period,,  and  as  the  thinker  grows  he  gets  farther  away 
from  .the  doctrine  of  the  Swedish  Seer.  Taine  was  of- 
fended by  the  statement  that  "  the  Specialist  is  ne- 
cessarily the  most  perfect  expression  of  Humanity,  

the  link  which  connects  the  visible  to  the  superior 
worlds.  He  acts,  sees,  and  feels  through  his  Inner 
Being.  The  Abstractive  thinks  ;  the  Instinctive  simply 
acts." 

We  have  here  the  sempiternal  protest  against  the 
privileges  of  genius  and  its  differentiation  from  ordinary 
humanly,  which  is  as  old,  and  perhaps  as  inevitable, 
as  the  stride  between  Materialism  and  Spiritualism,  But 
the  truth  of  the  doctrine  which  postulates  a  something 
Divine  in  man  is  attested  by  the  impotence  of  all 
efforts  to  reason  away  belief  in  this  higher  endowment. 
Just  as  the  physiologist  vainly  endeavors  to  solve  the 
problems  of  psychology  by  seeking  in  the  brain  and 
nerves  the  efficient  causes  of  intellection,  and  is  for- 
ever confronted  by  an  impassable  chasm  ;  so  the  ma- 
terialist wastes  his  energies  in  attempting  to  level  the 
distinctions  of  genius  and  to  deny  those  manifestations 
of  a  higher  life  which  nevertheless  continue  to  resist 
the  analysis  aimed  at  their  degradation.  But  Balzac 
did  not  fall  into  the  error  of  confounding  genius  with 
that  which  is  much  higher.  In  intimating  that  Jesus 
was  a  Specialist  he  indicates  the  scope  of  that  phase  of 
development.    It  is  the  highest  to  which  the  spirit  of 


lxviii  Introduction. 

man  while  incarnated  can  attain.  In  that  exalted 
sphere  may  be  classed  only  the  few  great  teachers  and 
exemplars  who  lived  not  for  themselves,  and  who  fixed 
those  standards  of  spiritual  and  ethical  aspiration  after 
which  humanity  has  toiled  for  ages  laboriously,  and  at 
a  distance  which  has  often  made  the  pursuit  appear 
futile  and  unavailing.  Genius,  as  commonly  under- 
stood, breathes  a  denser  air  than  these.  Intuition 
alone  can  be  a  safe  guide  to  those  whose  inner  self 
is  educated  to  the  apprehension  of  spiritual  impressions, 
and  upon  whose  sensitive  perceptions  that  most  refined 
mode  of  enlightenment  reacts  infallibly.  On  a  lower 
level,  though  still  high,  stands  genius.  As  Lambert 
says,  men  of  genius  occupy  a  place  between  the  spheres 
of  Abstractivity  and  Specialization,  and  partake  of  the 
attributes  of  both  spheres.  Intuition  is  given  to  them 
that  they  may  instruct  and  elevate  their  generation. 
Material  knowledge  is  necessary  to  them  that  they  may 
not  speak  above  the  heads  of  their  audience  and  so 
dissipate  their  powers  and  diminish  their  usefulness. 
Thus  is  it  that  genius  is  so  seldom  allied  with  content- 
ment. Its  impulses  are  forever  in  contention.  The 
man  of  genius  must  often  echo  the  passionate  lament 
of  Faust  :  — 

f<  Zwei  Seelen  wohnen,  ach!  in  meiner  Brust, 
Die  einer  will  sich  von  der  andern  trennen ; 
Die  einer  halt,  in  devber  Liebeslust, 
Sich  an  die  Welt,  mit  klammernden  Organen; 
Die  andre  hebt  gewaltsam  sich  von  Dust 
Zu  den  Gefilden  hoher  Ahnen." 


Introduction.  Ixix 

In  the  end  Faust  is  redeemed  ;  for,  as  the  angels  de- 
clare who  bear  away  his  soul,  — 

u  \\rer  immer  strebend  sich  bemiiht, 
.    ,  Den  konnen  wir  erlosen." 

But  the  "  two  souls"  which  all  through  his  earthly 
career  have  been  warring  in  his  breast  cannot  even  after 
death  be  separated  save  by  one  mighty  influence.  So 
the  perfected  angels  sing  :  — 

"Wenn  starke  Geisteskraft 
Die  Elemente 
An  sich  herangerafft, 
Rein  Engel  trennte 
Geeinte  Zwienatur 
Der  irmigen  beiden; 
Die  ewige  Liebe  nur 
Vermag's  zn  scheiden." 

Only  Eternal  Love  can  effect  the  separation  between 
the  earthly  and  the  divine  elements  which  experience, 
knowledge,  and  suffering  have  welded  together,  and 
which  persist  in  their  union,  even  in  the  purified  na- 
ture, until  the  universal  solvent,  the  Divine  Love, 
purges  and  refines  away  the  last  traces  of  the  earthly 
and  corruptible. 

If  Faust  furnishes  an  illustration  of  the  exceptional 
class  of  men  who,  according  to  Balzac,  occupy  a  middle 
ground  between  the  spheres  of  Abstraction  and  Speci- 
ality, the  character  of  Wagner,  as  drawn  by  Goethe, 
exemplifies  the  pure  Abstractive.  The  commentators  on 
Faust  have  invented  many  interpretations  to  Wagner. 
Thus  Hinrichs  is  of  opinion  that  he  stands  for  Empiri- 


Ixx 


Introduction. 


cism,  Faust  representing  Philosophy,  buntzer,  again, 
holds  that  Wagner  is  4t  the  representative  of  dead  Pe- 
dantry, of  knowledge  mechanically  acquired."  Deycks 
thinks  he  is  "  the  direct  caricature  of  pure,  rational, 
formal  knowledge,  without  living  thought  or  poetry, 
and  especially  without  religion."  Wagner  is  not  in- 
deed a  difficult  or  obscure  characterization.  He  is  the 
incarnation  of  Intellectuality,  unenlightened  by  imagi- 
nation, unstimulated  by  the  aspirations  which  are  to 
bring  the  nobler  Faust  through  suffering  to  redemp- 
tion. Wagner  is  Positive  Science,  the  materialistic 
mind  which  rejects  Intuition  as  undemonstrable,  which 
labels  Religion  Superstition,  and  which  in  the  name  of 
intellectual  freedom  dogmatizes  with  more  than  theo- 
logical narrowness  upon  phenomena.  When  he  inter- 
rupts Faust  in  the  invocation  scene,  the  daring  Seeker 
gauges  him  thoroughly  in  the  lines  :  — 

"  Wie  nur  dem  Kopf  nicht  alle  Hoffnung  schwindet, 
Der  immerfort  an  schalem  Zeuge  klebt, 
Mit  gier'ger  Hand  nach  Schatzen  grabt, 
Und  froh  ist,  wenn  er  Regenwiirmer  findet." 

Wagner,  the  Abstractive,  has  but  "  one  impulse." 
Nothing  interferes  with  the  completeness  of  his  sordid 
enjoyment  consequently.  No  doubts  trouble  him,  no 
higher  hopes  weaken  his  strong  hold  on  the  material 
side  of  nature,  no  inner  glimpses  of  the  divine  disturb 
or  disillusionize  him.  He  yearns  for  no  wings,  like 
Faust.  The  solid  earth  satisfies  him.  He  is  the  type 
of  purely  material  life  and  progress  ;  a  necessary  type 


Introduction, 


lxxi 


and  a  useful  one  within  its  limitations  ;  but  a  lower 
form  of  being  than  Faust  symbolizes,  and  one  whose 
active  intellection  renders  him  a  more  formidable  enemy 
to  spiritual  advance  than  is  the  occupant  of  the  lower 
Instinctive  sphere.  This  last  is  dull  and  dense,  but 
open  to  higher  influences,  because  no  pride  of  knowl- 
edge operates  with  him  as  a  hindrance  to  receptivity. 
Thus,  as  Lambert  puts  it,  "  There  are  three  degrees  in 
mankind:  The  Instinctive,  who  is  below  the  level;  the 
Abstractive,  who  is  upon  it ;  the  Specialist,  who  rises 
above  it.  Specialism  opens  his  true  career  to  man  ; 
the  Infinite  dawns  upon  him ;  he  catches  a  glimpse  of 
his  destiny." 

The  twentieth  axiom  may  be  said  to  involve  a  logi- 
cal development  from  what  has  gone  before.  There 
are,  we  are  told,  three  worlds,  or  spheres,  answering  to 
the  three  stages  of  humanity.  Whether  Balzac  had  in 
mind  at  this  point  Swedenborg's  doctrine  of  Corre- 
spondences, is  an  open  question,  but  really  of  little  sig- 
nificance,-inasmuch  as  Swedenborg  in  the  said  doctrine 
introduced  no  new  ideas,  but  followed  the  Kabbalas, 
which,  together  with  all  the  archaic  philosophies,  hold 
to  the  same  general  view.  u  As  above,  so  below,"  is 
an  axiom  of  hermetic  science.  The  three  worlds  are 
the  Natural,  the  Spiritual,  and  the  Divine.  Humanity 
occupies  the  stage  of  the  first,  "  which  is  fixed  neither 
in  its  essence  nor  in  its  properties.  The  Spiritual  world 
is  fixed  in  its  essence  and  variable  in  its  properties. 
The  Divine  world  is  fixed  both  in  its  properties  and  in 
its  essence."  •  The  meaning  of  this  does  not  lie  alto- 


Ixxii 


Introduction. 


gether  on  the  surface.  The  instability  of  the  Natural 
World  both  in  essence  and  properties  (or  faculties)  is 
explained  by  the  impermanence  of  Phenomena.  Ac- 
cording to  the  Hindu  Philosophy  phenomenal  existence 
is  Maya,  —  Illusion  ;  and  all  students  of  Buddhism 
are  aware  of  the  way  in  which  through  Ignorance  the 
Desire  of  Life  (Trishna)  binds  men  to  the  Wheel  of 
Existence  and  makes  them  the  fools  of  phantasmal 
shows,  until  after  man}'  incarnations  they  acquire  the 
Four  Noble  Truths,  and  so  by  following  the  Path, 
escape  from  Avid^va  and  find  rest  and  reward  in  Nir- 
vana. The  impermanence  of  the  phenomenal  world, 
however,  is  not  a  doctrine  peculiar  to  Hinduism  or  to 
Buddhism.  It  is  a  necessary  conclusion  from  all  phil- 
osophical meditation.  The  instability  of  the  physical 
world,  moreover,  is  a  fact  of  science.  Physics  and 
metaphysics  may  be  said  to  occupy  common  ground 
here.  The  second  denies  the  possibility  of  knowing 
the  realities  of  things.  The  first  finds,  in  all  forms  of 
matter  wrhich  lend  themselves  to  chemical  analysis,  a 
tendency  to  unification  in  essence  which,  being  corre- 
lated with  a  constantly  increasing  refinement  of  sub- 
stance, at  once  suggests  community  of  origin  and 
baffles  physical  demonstration.  But  the  more  probable 
does  the  hypothesis  of  a  single  primal  substance  ap- 
pear, the  more  impressive  and  marvellous  must  be 
considered  the  countless  combinations  and  changes 
produced  in  that  substance. 

The  Spiritual  World  is  said  to  be  fixed  in  its  essence 
aijcl  mobile*. its  properties.     The  term  "Spiritual 


Introduction. 


lxxiii 


World  "  here  embraces  the  sphere  of  the  higher  human 
faculties,  but  not  the  highest.  The  essence  of  Spiritu- 
ality is  divine,  and  therefore  immutable  and  fixed.  But 
the  faculties  by  and  through  which  this  essence  manifests 
itself  are,  because  complex,  unstable.  They  can  be  re- 
solved into  their  constituent  elements.  The}^  are,  like 
the  physical  forces  generally,  modes  of  motion,  but  of 
spiritual,  not  material  motion.  The  distinction  is  rather 
one  of  degree  than  kind,  from  the  point  of  view  of  Bal- 
zac's philosophy  ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  bear  this  in  mind, 
since  materialistic  science  has  caused  great  confusion 
by  inventing  a  terminology  which  perpetually  takes  for 
granted  the  absolutely  undemonstrable  assumption  that 
what  is  called  Matter  is  different  in  kind  from  what  is 
called  Spirit.  Now,  it  is  of  the  essence  of  Louis  Lam- 
bert's system  that  Matter  and  Spirit  are  simply  different 
states  of  the  same  entity,  and  that  the  latter  is  the  high- 
est refinement  of  that  which  finds  its  grossest  embodi- 
ment in  dimensional  matter.  The  intelligence  which 
can  perceive  the  ultimate  identity  of  nature  between  the 
granite  rock  and  the  most  tenuous  gas,  which  perceives 
the  materiality  of  both,  should,  it  might  be  thought, 
find  it  possible  to  conceive  the  possibility  of  one  un- 
broken chain  of  connection  between  ponderables  and 
imponderables,  between  producer  and  product,  between 
the  source  of  organic  life  and  organized  existence.  Here 
again  the  old  doctrine  of  Correspondences  applies,  sug- 
gesting the  attribution  to  those  forces  and  properties 
which  elude  physical  analysis,  of  the  laws  which  govern 
the  less  subtle  natural  forces  whose  properties  yield 


lxxiv 


Introduction. 


their  secrets  to  the  ingenuity  of  human  research  by  lab- 
oratory methods. 

The  Divine  World  4t  is  fixed  in  its  properties  and  in  its 
essence."  This  is  the  highest  sphere,  to  attain  which  is 
to  pass  from  the  phenomenal  to  the  noumenal ;  from  the 
World  of  Effects  to  the  World  of  Causes.  Here  alone 
is  Reality  found.  Here  alone  are  obscurities  cleared 
awa}\  Here  alone,  because  the  ultimate  meaning  of 
everything  is  then  manifested,  can  there  be  satisfaction 
and  rest.  The  Divine  World  is  the  highest  concep- 
tion to  which  the  human  mind  can  rise.  Its  atmos- 
phere is  far  too  rarefied  to  be  breathed  easily  by  finite 
beings,  whether  men  or  angels.  It  is  the  Unknowable 
of  the  Agnostics;  the  Unthinkable  of  all  who  reject 
Spirit  and  immerse  themselves  in  Materialism.  For  no 
matter  how  intimate  may  be  the  connection  between 
Spirit  and  Matter,  it  is  quite  possible  for  such  as  devote 
themselves  wholly  to  the  grosser  manifestations  of  the 
universal  Substance  to  become  incapable  of  apprehend- 
ing or  enduring  its  more  subtle  phenomena  ;  and  this 
is  what  happens  in  the  case  of  the  Agnostics.  The 
Divine  World  is  that  of  which  Krishna,  discoursing  with 
Arjuna  in  the  Bhagavad-Gita,  declares,  — 

"  Yet  hard 
The  travail  is  for  whoso  bend  their  minds 
To  reach  th'  Unmanifest.    That  viewless  path 
Shall  scarce  be  trod  by  man  bearing  his  flesh!  " 

It  is  the  sphere  which  Gautama  Buddha  perceived  as 
the  goal  of  all  high  endeavor,  when,  concluding  his 


Introduction. 


lxxv 


vigils  under  the  Bho  tree,  he  summarized  the  teachings 
of  the  Path,  and  described  the  consummation  :  — 

"  Free  from  Earth's  cheats; 
Released  from  all  the  Skandhas  of  the  flesh ; 
Broken  from  ties  —  from  Upadanas  — saved 
From  whirling  on  the  Wheel  ;  aroused  and  sane 
As  is  a  man  wakened  from  hateful  dreams. 
Until  —  greater  than  kings,  than  Gods  more  glad  !  — 
The  aching  craze  to  live  ends,  and  life  glides  — 
Lifeless  — to  nameless  quiet,  nameless  joy, 
Blessed  Nirvana  —  sinless,  stirless  rest  — 
That  change  which  never  changes!  " 

The  subtlety  of  Hindu  metaphysics  has  constituted  a 
perpetual  stumbling-block  to  Western  scholars,  of  whom 
the  majority  have  misapprehended  the  idea  of  Nirvana 
so  completely  as  to  cite,  in  proof  of  the  atheism  of 
Buddhism,  a  doctrine  which  is  really  the  loftiest  and 
most  purely  spiritual  the  human  mind  has  produced. 
Spence  Hardy,  who  in  his  "Eastern  Monachism  "  and 
"  Manual  of  Buddhism  "  has  devoted  considerable  space 
to  this  much-vexed  question,  translates,  in  the  former 
of  the  works  cited,  the  conversations  between  the  Sage 
Nagasena  and  King  Milinda  upon  the  nature  of  Nirvana. 
The  Sage,  in  answer  to  Milinda' s  questions,  says  :  "  It 
cannot  be  said  that  it  is  produced,  nor  that  it  is  not 
produced  ;  that  it  is  past,  or  future,  or  present ;  nor 
can  it  be  said  that  it  is  the  seeing  of  the  eye,  or  the 
hearing  of  the  ear,  or  the  smelling  of  the  nose,  or  the 
tasting  of  the  tongue,  or  the  feeling  of  the  body."  Mi- 
linda then  says  :  u  Then  you  speak  of  a  thing  that  is 
not ;  you  merely  say  that  Nirvana  is  Nirvana  ;  therefore 


lxxvi 


Introduction. 


there  is  no  Nirvana."  Nagasena  replies  :  "  Great  king, 
Nirvana  is  ;  it  is  a  perception  of  the  mind  ;  the  pure, 
delightful  Nirvana,  free  from  ignorance  (aividya)  and 
evil  desire  (trishnawa),  is  perceived  by  the  rahats  who 
enjoy  the  fruition  of  the  paths."  Again  he  compares  it 
to  the  wind,  whose  existence  is  known  though  it  cannot 
be  seen  or  analyzed.  ''Even  so,"  he  says,  "  Nirvana  is; 
destroying  the  infinite  sorrow  of  the  world,  and  present- 
ing itself  as  the  chief  happiness  of  the  world ;  but  its 
attributes  and  properties  cannot  be  declared." 

In  the  Asangkrata  sutra,  Gautama  has  sard  of  Nirvana 
that  "it  is  the  end  of  Sangsara,  or  successive  existence  ; 
the  arriving  at  its  opposite  shore  ;  its  completion."  And 
again:  "Nirvana  is  dharmma  bhis-amaya,  the  end  or 
completion  of  religion  ;  its  entire  accomplishment."  It 
is  difficult,  in  reading  these  definitions,  imperfect  as  they 
necessarily  are,  to  understand  how  Nirvana  could  have 
been  represented  as  annihilation.  For  the  meaning 
which  stands  out  clearly  from  all  the  most  authoritative 
attempts  at  definition  is  certainly  that  which  the  Chinese 
Buddhist  Wong-Ching-Fu  gave  to  it  when  he  said  : 
"This  condition  [Nirvana]  we  all  understand  to  mean 
a  final  reunion  with  God,  coincident  with  the  perfection 
of  the  human  spirit  by  its  ultimate  disembarrassment  of 
matter.  It  is  the  very  opposite  of  personal  annihilation." 
The  later  Buddhist  metaphysicians  did  undoubtedly  lean 
toward  the  theory  of  absolute  extinction,  but  it  is  not 
possible  to  show  that  Buddha  either  taught  or  counte- 
nanced that  view,  or  that  it  was  held  at  all  in  his  time. 
Max  Muller  pertinently  asks  (in  his  "Introduction  to  the 


Introduction, 


lxxvii 


Dhammapada"),  "Would  not  a  religion  which  lands 
us  at  last  in  the  Nothing  cease  to  be  a  religion?" 
Dr.  Oldenberg,  who  has  examined  the  subject  with  great 
care,  reaches  the  conclusioiy^that  Buddha  himself  re- 
fused to  determine  the  question,  taking  the  ground  that 
his  mission  was  to  prepare  the  world  for  the  change, 
and  not  to  enter  into  explanations  of  the  nature  of  the 
change.  It  was  a  Great  Deliverance.  That  position 
was  enough  for  him,  and  to  that  he  adhered.  But  Dr. 
Oldenberg  does  not  appear  to  take  into  consideration 
the  fact  that  there  has  always  been  an  esoteric  as  well 
as  an  exoteric  doctrine  ;  and  it  is  in  the  former  that  the 
actual  truth  of  the  teaching  concerning  Nirvana  must 
be  sought  by  those  who  desire  certainty  of  definition. 
The  esoteric  view  is  that  which  harmonizes  with  Balzac's 
"  Divine  World."  In  the  language  of  "Isis  Unveiled," 
"Nirvana  means  the  certitude  of  personal  immortality 
in  Spirit,  not  in  Soul"  That  is  to  say,  it  means  the 
state  reached  through  entire  separation  from  all  the 
conditions  of  earthly  existence,  and  the  complete  and 
final  enfranchisement  of  the  spirit.  That  the  nature  of 
this  enfranchised  existence  should  be  alike  beyond  hu- 
man comprehension  and  expression  is  a  necessity  of 
tlje  position.  It  is  only  by  anthropomorphization  that 
any  form-  of  immaterial  existence  can  be  conceived ; 
and  it  need  not  be  said  that  all  such  conceptions  are  as 
a  matter  of  course  erroneous  and  delusive.  Therefore 
a  definition  of  Nirvana  must  ever  be  impossible.  It  is 
that  glory  which  passeth  understanding.  But  however 
transcending  finite  apprehension,  and  however  idle  all 


Ixxviii 


Introduction. 


attempts  to  give  form  to  it  in  our  material  terminology, 
it  is  not  merely  possible  but  necessary  to  consider  the 
doctrine  as  the  fitting  culmination  of  a  great  and  lofty 
faith,  the  truths  and  beauties  of  which  are  to-day  taking 
hold  upon  many  Western  minds,  if  the  scope  and  signi- 
ficance of  the  system  are  to  be  grasped. 

Of  the  three  Worlds,  Lambert  proceeds,  there  are 
three  cults,  which  are  expressed  by  Action,  Speech,  and 
Prayer  ;  or,  in  other  words,  by  Fact,  Understanding,  and 
Love.    The  most  material  of  these  throe  appertains  to 
the  Instinctive  sphere;  the  second,  Understanding,  to 
the  Abstractive ;  and  the  third,  Love,  to  the  Specialist, 
which  is  nearest  to  the  Divine.    The  dominant  influ- 
ences in  the  least  developed  races  and  peoples  find 
expression  in  direct  contact  with  external  nature.  The 
stage  of  Savagery  indeed  is  often  marked  by  alterna- 
tions of  almost  vegetative  indolence  and  apathy.  Thus 
the  savage  marvels  at  the  energy  and  restlessness  of 
the  civilized  man.    But  this  indolence  is  not  the  sign 
of  a  meditative  habit.    On  the  contrary  it  is  akin  to 
the  stolid  unthinking  placidity  of  the  ruminants.  An 
Indian  chief  observed  to  a  white  man:  "You  do  not 
know  the  pleasure  of  doing  nothing  and  thinking  noth- 
ing ;  and  yet  next  to  sleep,  that  is  most  delicious."  In 
the  stage  of  Barbarism  the  yearning  for  action  becomes 
stronger,  and  it  persists  into  the  ensuing  stage  called 
Civilization,  but  here  tempered,  guided,  and  given  new 
efficacy  by  the  development  of  Understanding.  Speech, 
as  the  race  advances,  becomes  in  its  turn  the  dominant 
influence.    The  mystery  of  the  spoken  word  underlies 


Introduction. 


lxxix 


every  step  of  real  progress.  This  sj'mbolizes  and  in- 
dicates the  final  triumph  of  Spirit  over  Matter.  In 
the  beginning  Force  rules  nakedly.  Superior  muscular 
power  was  the  basis  of  the  first  sovereignty.  As  men 
improved  plrysically, —  as  the  prognathous  jaw  of  the 
Cave-dwellers  receded,  —  the  brow  rose,  and  Thought 
grew  into  a  social  influence.  The  general  experience 
furnished  crude  rules  of  conduct,  which  the  few  specially 
endowed  men  formulated,  and  thenceforward  Speech 
was  a  moulding  force.  In  the  sphere  of  the  Abstrac- 
tive, Understanding  as  manifested  by  the  superior 
members  of  the  race,  and  Action  as  supplied  by  the 
less  advanced,  suffice  to  engender  the  whole  of  what 
is  termed  material  civilization.  The  sphere  of  Ideation 
is,  speaking  broadly,  the  highest  yet  attained  ;  for  the 
widely  separated  and  numerically  few  Specialists  who 
have  appeared,  to  signalize  momentous  changes  and  to 
lead  great  forward  movements,  cannot  be  regarded  as 
illustrating  the  capacities  of  the  race  at  any  period. 
Their  fate,  and  the  reception  given  to  their  wTork,  on 
the  contrary,  emphasize  the  fact  that  they  were,  so  to 
speak,  born  out  of  due  time,  and  were  therefore  uncom- 
prehended  by  their  contemporaries.  The  world  has 
always  crucified  its  saviors.  It  has  ever  preferred 
Barabbas  to  Christ.  Nor  need  this  apparent  cruelty  be 
imputed  to  the  slayers  for  iniquity.  The  djing  adjura- 
tion, 4 '  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do !  "  embodies  a  profound  truth.  The  sluggish 
upward  impulses  of  mankind  would  fail  to  achieve 
the  deliverance  of  the  race  from  the  bonds  of  matter 


lxxx 


Introduction, 


were  they  not  stimulated  and  invigorated  from  time  to 
time  by  Divine  Incarnations.  These  involve  deliberate 
and  predestined  sacrifices,  and  in  the  nature  of  the 
sacrifice  no  less  than  in  the  nature  of  the  doctrine 
taught  by  the  Sacrificed,  is  presented  the  highest  and 
most  vital  Theosophy. 

The  ruling  impulses  of  the  undeveloped  man  are 
purely  egotistic.  It  takes  him  some  time  even  to 
discover  that  his  own  interests  demand  a  measure  of 
regard  for  the  interests  of  his  fellows.  The  idea  of 
putting  the  good  of  another  before  his  own  does  not 
occur  to  him.  Presently  the  tribal  necessities  compel 
some  kind  of  service  to  the  community,  but  it  is  ren- 
dered on  the  most  practical  and  selfish  grounds,  if  not 
under  compulsion.  Ages  pass  in  tedious  struggles 
before  the  germs  of  the  emotion  called  Love  become 
recognizable.  The  sexual  relations,  first  governed  by 
Instinct,  then  by  Lust,  are  gradually  modified  and  to 
some  extent  elevated  by  the  rise  of  a  purer  influence. 
Not  for  mere  material  or  intellectual  gratification  and 
satisfaction  was  this  purifying  influence  brought  into 
operation.  The  education  of  Humanity  is  laborious 
and  only  to  be  achieved  by  Infinite  patience.  In  the 
emotion  of  Love  men  were  to  be  taught  to  recognize 
the  descent  of  a  nobler  influence  than  either  Action  or 
Reason  could  generate.  Line  upon  line,  precept  upon 
precept,  this  great  lesson  was  to  be  inculcated.  With 
characteristic  perversity,  men  began  by  abusing  their 
newly  discovered  privileges,  but  step  by  step  the  divine 
revelation  impressed  itself  upon  the  more  advanced  por- 


Introduction. 


lxxxi 


tions  of  the  race,  and  opened  their  eyes  to  the  beauties 
of  Altruism.  When  Christ  said,  "A  new  commandment 
give  I  unto  you,  that  ye  love  one  another,"  he  spoke 
above  the  understanding  of  his  auditors.  But  though 
the  doctrine  of  Love  had  been  taught  five  centuries 
before  by  Sakya  Muni,  it  was  to  a  new  world,  practi- 
cally not  reached  by  the  teaching  of  the  Indian  Avatar, 
that  Jesus  declared  himself;  and  to  that  world,  then 
far  behind  Asia  in  culture  and  knowledge,  the  com- 
mandment was  in  fact  new.  Nor,  when  due  and  neces- 
sary allowance  has  been  made  for  the  effects  ' upon  the 
creed  of  Christendom  of  the  barbarism  which  prevailed 
for  more  than  a  millennium  after  its  nominal  adoption, 
can  it  be  seriously  denied  that  it  has  kept  the  sacred 
fire  burning  upon  the  altar  through  all  vicissitudes,  and 
has  handed  down  to  the  nineteenth  century,  marred 
indeed  and  obscured  by  carnal  accretions,  but  still  not 
extinct,  the  central  truths  of  the  doctrine,  the  inner 
meaning  of  the  Great  Sacrifice.  Nay,  more,  for  in  the 
cult  of  the  most  venerable  of  all  the  Christian  churches, 
—  in  that  phase  of  its  cult,  moreover,  which  has  pro- 
voked the  bitterest  hostility  of  its  opponents,  —  in  that 
cult  of  Mary  which  has  been  so  often  indicted  as  idola- 
trous,—  may  be  recognized  a  more  penetrating  insight, 
not  only  to  the  needs  of  humanity,  but  into  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  Divine  scheme,  than  is  manifested  in 
the  austerest  and  most  rigid  following  of  the  Semitic 
Unitarian  idea. 

The  Wisdom-Religions  alone  take  full  account,  how- 
ever, of  the  part  played  by  the  feminine  principle  in  all 
-  6 


lxxxii 


Introduction. 


things  and  events.  If  the  Western  world  has  required 
eighteen  hundred  years  to  bring  it  to  even  its  present 
dim  perceptions  of  the  rights  of  Woman  in  the  social 
and  political  organism,  one  main  factor  in  this  arrest  of 
development  must  be  sought  in  the  defective  religious 
vision  caught  from  Palestine,  and  which  by  Judaizing 
Christianity  perverted  the  teachings  of  its  Founder  on 
a  vital  point,  and  deprived  Christendom  for  centuries 
of  the  most  powerful  civilizing  and  ennobling  influence 
in  existence.  The  Age  of  Chivalry  marked  the  one 
really  fine  and  earnest  effort  made  during  this  long 
period  of  intellectual  and  religious  twilight,  to  right  the 
established  wrong.  It  was,  however,  overlaid  with  an 
artificial  fantasy,  and  it  was  confined  to  a  comparatively 
narrow  range.  With  the  advent  of  a  more  extended 
material  prosperity,  with  the  growth  of  what  are  called 
practical  ideas,  —  ideas,  that  is  to  say,  about  wholly 
ephemeral  conditions,  —  that  experiment  closed  in  fail- 
ure. The  position  of  Woman  no  doubt  underwent  im- 
portant changes.  For  ages  she  had  been  the  slave  and 
chattel  of  Man.  Then  she  was  lifted  to  the  higher  con- 
dition of  his  helper  and  his  convenience.  Finally  she 
became  his  toy  and  plaything.  He  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  admit  her  equality,  but  he  was  too  humane  by 
this  time  to  treat  her  after  the  old  brutal  manner.  He 
could  not  countenance  her  aspirations  ;  but  he  was  will- 
ing to  furnish  her  with  anodynes  ;  and,  having  drugged 
her  soul  to  sleep,  behaved  to  her  somewhat  tenderly. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  disadvantages  and  restraints 
and  disabilities  under  which  she  has  labored,  —  and 


Introduction. 


lxxxiii 


under  many  of  which  she  still  labors,  —  Woman  has 
maintained  with  surprising  steadfastness  the  position  to 
which  her  characteristic  endowments  destined  her  from 
the  beginning.  u  Morally,"  says  Lecky,  "  the  general 
superiority  of  women  over  men  is,  I  think,  unquestion- 
able. .  .  .  Self-sacrifice  is  the  most  conspicuous  ele- 
ment of  a  virtuous  and  religious  character,  and  it  is 
certainly  far  less  common  among  men  than  among 
women,  whose  whole  lives  are  usually  spent  in  yield- 
ing to  the  will  and  consulting  the  pleasures  of  another. 
There  are  two  great  departments  of  virtue  :  the  impul- 
sive, or  that  which  springs  spontaneously  from  the 
emotions,  and  the  deliberative,  or  that  which  is  per- 
formed in  obedience  to  the  sense  of  duty ;  and  in  both 
of  these,  1  imagine,  women  are  superior  to  men."  The 
same  acute  thinker  observes  of  that  cult  of  the  Virgin 
already  alluded  to  here:  "Whatever  may  be  thought 
of  its  theological  propriety,  there  is,  I  think,  little 
doubt  that  the  Catholic  reverence  for  the  Virgin  has 
done  much  to  elevate  and  purify  the  ideal  of  women, 
and  to  soften  the  manners  of  men."  It  brought  into 
prominence  and  gave  scope  for  the  exercise  of  that 
feminine  influence  which,  no  matter  how  dwarfed  and 
distorted,  represents  the  highest  possibilities  of  human 
attainment,  and  symbolizes  that  principle  of  Divine 
Love  which  is  the  key  to  the  secrets  of  existence,  —  the 
connecting  link  between  Earth  and  Heaven.  The  con- 
cluding lines  of  Goethe's  great  drama  are  :  — 

"  Das  Ewig  Weibliche 
Zieht  uns  hi  nan." 


lxxxiv 


Introduction. 


The  Eternal  Womanly  —  the  Woman-Soul  —  draws  us 
upward.  The  meaning  of  the  entire  closing  scene  of 
Faust  is  clear.  It  is  the  Apotheosis  of  Love,  which  is 
presented  as  the  all-redeeming  and  all-uplifting  power. 
Here,  as  shown  to  us  through  the  symbolism  of  Wo- 
man's virtues  and  devotion,  the  sublime  potentialities  of 
the  Divine  principle  are  but  dimly  foreshadowed.  In  a 
higher  sphere  of  existence  alone  can  mundane  anticipa- 
tions be  realized,  and  through  the  union  there  of  the 
mental  with  the  Divine.  This  is  no  new  doctrine.  The 
complementary  necessity  of  the  feminine  principle  for 
the  elucidation  of  all  the  deepest  religious  and  moral 
problems  was  recognized  in  remote  antiquity.  Plato 
taught  it,  yet  he  did  not  originate  it.  The  belief  ex- 
isted in  India  as  far  back  as  the  pre-Vedic  period,  and 
it  entered  into  the  teachings  of  the  sages  who  dissemi- 
nated the  faith  now  known  as  that  of  Zoroaster.  In 
all  the  mystical  scriptures  the  soul  is  symbolized  by 
Woman, — hence  the  Greek  myth  of  Psyche.  In  the 
religion  of  ancient  Egypt  the  goddess  Isis  held  superior 
rank  to  her  consort.  The  mystic  interpretation  of  the 
Edenic  state  represented  Adam  as  Sense  and  Eve  as 
Soul ;  and  in  the  imputation  to  the  latter  of  the  sin 
which  caused  the  Fall,  the  esoteric  version  is  inter- 
preted as  signifying  that  the  Soul  first  offended  in 
neglecting  the  instruction  of  the  creative  Word, — the 
Logos. 

"Love,"  says  Amiel,  "  sublime,  unique,  invincible, 
conducts  straight  to  the  verge  of  the  great  abyss,  for 
it  speaks  directly  of  the  Infinite  and  Eternal.    It  is 


Introduction. 


lxxxv 


essentially  religious.  It  ma}r  even  become  Keligion." 
And  again  he  says,  in  his  meditative  way :  "  Who 
knows  if  Love  and  its  benefactions,  so  evidently  a 
manifestation  of  a  universal  harmony,  is  not  the  strong- 
est demonstration  of  a  sovereignly  intelligent  and  pater- 
nal God,  as  it  is  the  shortest  path  by  which  to  reach 
Him?  Love  is  a  faith,  and  one  faith  appeals  to  an- 
other. This  faith  is  a  happiness,  illumination,  and 
strength ;  "  and  he  speculates  about  himself,  writing : 
44  It  is  perhaps  through  Love  that  I  shall  regain  Faith, 
Religion,  Energy,  and  Concentration."  Amiel  was  too 
thoroughly  a  modern  to  comprehend  clearly  the  deeper 
problems  of  life,  but  his  nature  was  less  absolutely 
masculine^  than  usual,  and  .b}rvhis  feminine  principle, 
clouded  as  it  was,  he  obtained  an  inkling  of  the  truth. 
Yet  his  sensibility  and  spiritual  perception  were  much 
greater  and  clearer  than  those  of  the  men  and  women 
who  parrot-like  repeat,  u  Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the 
law,"  and,  "  God  is  Love,"  without  attaching  to 
those  words  any  special  significance,  without  under- 
standing or  desiring  to  understand  their  true  and  full 
meaning.  How  dark  a  passage  to  Balzac's  eountiy- 
men„  half  a  century  ago,  must  have  been  the  final 
sentences  of  the  first  category  in  "Louis  Lambert," — 
"  Perhaps  one  day  the  inverse  sense  of  4 And  the  Word 
was  made  flesh '  will  be  the  epitome  of  a  new  gospel, 
which  will  read :  6  And  the  flesh  shall  be  made  the 
Word;  it  shall  become  the  Utterance  of  God.'"  Yet 
to  those  who  have  followed  with  attention  the  devel- 
opment of  this  curious  philosophy  there  can  be  little  ob- 


lxxxvi 


Introduction. 


scurity  here.  If  indeed  Love  is  '-'creation's  final  law," 
a  time  must  come  when  it  will  possess  its  own  ;  not  as, 
heretofore,  in  visions  and  ecstatic  vaticinations  onlv, 
but  in  fact.  The  Incarnation  was  a  descent  of  Spirit 
into  Matter ;  the  acceptance  of  hampering  conditions 
by  the  soaring  Soul. 

In  the  culmination  of  human  existence  it  is  permitted 
to  those  who  are  not  natural  pessimists  and  who  have 
studied  the  Wisdom-Religions  to  look  forward  to  a 
final  spiritual  victory,  —  when,  however  slow  and  pain- 
ful the  journey  may  have  been,  the  original  and  in- 
dispensable conditions  of  perfectibility  shall  have  been 
regained,  and  the  long-struggling  race,  having  restored 
its  feminine  principle  to  that  equal  state  which  is  re- 
quisite to  harmonious  and  effectual  evolution,  shall 
have  risen  from  the  lower  to  the  higher  state  of 
existence,  and  thus  be  capable  of  exercising  the  su- 
preme spiritual  functions.  When  that  time  comes  — 
that  44  far-off,  divine  event,  to  which  the  whole  crea- 
tion moves  "  —  the  Flesh  will  indeed  have  become  the 
Word  ;  the  Spirit  will  have  obtained  complete  ascend- 
ency over  the  Body ;  and  in  the  uplifting  and  purifica- 
tion of  Humanity  it  will  have  attained  to  Unity  with  the 
Supreme,  and  will  be,  no  less  than  the  Logos,  4  4  the  Utter- 
ance of  God."  To  the  exalted  and  redeemed  race  the 
adjuration  of  the  Angel  of  the  Resurrection  will  indeed 
be  changed,  as  Lambert  concludes.  44  The  Angel  borne 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind  will  not  say,  4  Arise,  ye 
Dead!'  He  will  say,  'Let  the  Living  arise!'"  For 
in  that  perfected  world  Death  will  have  been  conquered 


Introduction. 


lxxxvii 


finally',  and  the  only  physical  consequence  of  protracted 
existence  on  the  earthly  plane  will  be  increasing  refine- 
ment of  the  organism  and  decreasing  bondage  to  mate- 
rial conditions.  If  we  believe  in  the  practically  illimi- 
table potentialities  of  life,  if  we  hold  that  Spirit  is  as 
real  and  as  active  as  organized  Matter,  the  intimations 
of  this  bold  and  splendid  speculation  must  possess  for 
us  an  interest  and  an  attraction  far  outweighing  the  dif- 
ficulty of  grasping  somewhat  abstruse  and  highly  con- 
densed propositions,  and  we  shall  recognize  in  what 
may  at  first  seem  the  most  audacious  of  Balzac's  spirit- 
ual flights  an  inspiration  not  less  genuine  and  fascinat- 
ing than  that  of  the  Poet  who 

"  Sings  of  what  thevworld  will  be 
When  the  years  have  passed  away." 


We  now  enter  upon  a  consideration  of  that  second 
category  of  "  Louis  Lambert's"  philosophical  concepts 
which  Balzac  himself  evident^  doubted  the  ability  of 
his  readers  to  comprehend,  and  which  unquestionably 
are  of  a  nature  to  become  "  the  despair  of  the  under- 
standing "  which  approaches  them  without  some  pre- 
liminary study.  Yet  whoever  is  sufficiently  interested 
in  this  unique  and  in  man}'  respects  profound  work 
must  undertake  the  examination  of  the  second  cate- 
gory ;  for  while  it  may  at  first  sight  appear  to  reiter- 
ate divers  propositions  laid  down  in  the  first,  its 
scope,  as  intimated  by  the  supposed  biographer  of  Lam- 
bert, is  broader  than  that  of  the  preceding  one,  and  it 


Ixxxviii 


Introduction. 


includes  a  larger  synthesis.  Moreover,  there  is  an 
"  evident  correlation"  between  the  two  categories,  and 
the  second  complements  and  rounds  out  the  first,  while 
extending  the  general  inquiry  into  regions  not  to  be 
traversed  without  trouble,  and  the  exploration  of  which, 
even  in  the  most  imperfect  way,  requires  patience  and 
lucidity  at  once.  On  the  very  threshold  of  our  investi- 
gation, indeed,  we  encounter  a  difficulty  which  extends 
to  the  very  foundations  of  all  such  research,  and  which 
it  is  the  less  possible  to  obviate  because  it  grows  out  of 
those  radical  differences  of  human  character  and  mental 
temperament  which  have  divided  thinking  men  from 
the  beginning  into  two  irreconcilable  camps. 

In  the  second  category  we  have  to  do  with  Number 
and  with  the' Egyptian,  Pythagorean,  and  Kabbalistic 
doctrines  respecting  it.  Now,  the  views  entertained 
regarding  Number  have  always  fallen,  broadly  speak- 
ing, into  two  great  divisions,  and  the  boundaries  of 
these  divisions  have  corresponded  approximately  with 
those  which  define  the  positions  of  the  Nominalists  and 
the  Realists.  The  difference  between  these  schools 
may  be  briefly  stated  in  the  words  of  G.  H.  Lewes: 
"  The  Realists  maintain  that  every  General  Term  (or 
Abstract  Idea) — such  as  Man,  Virtue,  etc.  —  has 
a  real  and  independent  existence,  quite  irrespective  of 
any  concrete  individual  determination,  such  as  Smith, 
Benevolence,  etc.  The  Nominalists,  on  the  contrary, 
maintain  that  all  General  Terms  are  but  the  creations 
of  the  mind,  designating  no  distinct  entities,  being 
merely  used  as  marks  of  aggregate  conceptions."  This 


Introduction. 


Ixxxix 


dispute,  however,  is  not  merely  a  question  of  definitions  ; 
it  is  concerning  irreconcilable  conceptions,  —  the  concep- 
tions, that  is  to  say,  of  opposed  classes  of  minds.  The 
mind  in  which  the  spiritual  elements  predominate  never 
finds  any  difficulty  in  perceiving  and  apprehending  that 
which  the  mind  controlled  by  the  material  element 
denominates  mystical  or  transcendental.  To  the  ma- 
terial mind,  non-tangibility  is  nearly  equivalent  to  non- 
existence ;  and  every  conception  which  attributes  to 
phenomena  significances  of  a  noumenal  character  is 
set  down  by  this  order  of  mind  as  metaphysical,  and 
therefore  more  or  less  fanciful  and  frivolous.  A  very 
high  degree  of  ratiocinative  power  is  quite  compatible 
with  the  tenure  of  the  crassest  Materialism ;  and  a 
striking  illustration  of  this  may  be  cited  in  the  late 
Professor  Kingdon  Clifford,  who  quite  evidently  was  % 
so  constituted  as  to  be  absolutely  incapable  of  grasping 
any  spiritual  conceptions.  Another  and  still  more 
recent  example  is  that  of  Judge  J.  B.  Stallo,  the  author 
of  an  admirably  lucid  and  cogent  but  curiously  one- 
sided book,  in  which  he  convicts  modern  science  of 
retaining  a  number  of  what  he  terms  metaphysical 
theories.  Evidently  in  his  mind  this  is  an  evidence 
of  intellectual  weakness  reaching  almost  to  puerility ; 
nevertheless,  it  is  certain  that  unless  the  growth  of 
Materialism  should  be  so  rapid  and  extensive  as  to 
extinguish  spirituality  completely,  the  spiritual  ele- 
ment in  humanity  will  continue  to  recognize  that  side 
of  existence  in  the  future,  not  less  emphatically  and 
earnestly  than  in  the  past. 


xc 


Introduction. 


The  impossibility  of  eliminating  the  metaphysical 
from  human  thought  is  indeed  manifested  in  one  of  those 
departments  of  science  which  Judge  Stallo  criticises. 
He  complains  that  in  the  higher  mathematics,  and 
especially  in  transcendental  geometry,  abstractions  are 
objectified  in  a  most  reprehensible  manner.  This  he 
calls  "  the  reification  of  concepts, "  —  a  terminology  in 
itself  implying  either  a  total  separation  between  Matter 
and  Spirit,  or  the  attribution  of  all  phenomena,  mental 
as  well  as  physical,  to  the  former,  to  the  absolute 
denial  of  the  latter's  existence.  The  significant  fact, 
however,  is  that  Numbers  to-day,  no  less  than  in  the  time 
of  ancient  Egypt,  and  of  Anaximander  and  Pythagoras, 
appear  differently  to  differently  constituted  minds ; 
and  that  which  Judge  Stallo  calls  the  "reification  of 
concepts  "  is  balanced  by  an  opposite  tendency,  which 
may  be  termed  "  the  spiritualization  of  things."  As 
regards  the  doctrine  of  Pythagoras,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  that  philosopher  wrote  nothing,  and  that  all 
we  possess  of  his  teaching  has  been  extracted  from  the 
writings  of  others.  It  is  equally  important  to  bear  in 
mind  that  he  taught  esoterically,  and  that  beyond  a 
certain  point  his  pupils  were  forbidden  to  disseminate 
the  instruction  they  had  received.  This  consideration 
must  cast  doubt  upon  the  version  of  the  Pythagorean 
doctrines  given  by  Aristotle,  and  in  particular  must 
cause  the  latter's  interpretation  of  the  numerical  hypo- 
thesis to  be  regarded  with  suspicion.  Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes, 
who  was  himself  an  Agnostic,  and  who  wrote  a  history 
of  Philosophy  for  the  purpose  of  demonstrating  that 


Introduction, 


xci 


Philosophy  neither  had  done  nor  could  do  aught  but 
travel  in  a  vicious  circle,  inevitably  held  b}T  the  Aris- 
totelian view  of  Pythagoras,  In  order  to  fortify  this 
position,  however,  he  was  obliged  to  reject  the  tradition 
that  the  sage  obtained  his  ideas  in  Egypt,  —  a  theory 
which  has  no  support  in  history. 

The  properties  of  numbers  have  been  examined  in 
a  voluminous  literature.  There  is  no  ceremonial  reli- 
gion, and  no  body  of  esoteric  doctrine  or  occult  science, 
which  does  not  rest  upon,  or  is  not  largely  concerned 
with,  Number.  Its  symbolism  is  complicated,  elaborate, 
and  in  itself  a  complete  study.  It  is  therefore  impossible, 
in  the,  present  instance,  to  treat  the  subject  adequately, 
or,  indeed,  to  do  more  than  glance  at  some  salient  points, 
consideration  of  which  may  tend  to  the  elucidation  of 
Balzac.  In  dealing  with  the  first  category,  something- 
was  said  of  the  relations  of  Number  to  modern  scientific 
theories,  and  it  was  shown  that,  even  in  the  most  purely 
material  signification,  it  held  an  important  and  some- 
times a  controlling  position,  as  a  means  of  measuring 
and  differentiating  forces  and  of  determining  formal 
variations  in  animal  organisms.  In  the  second  cate- 
goiy,  Number  is  to  be  considered  in  a  broader  aspect, 
and  it  becomes  necessaiy  to  state  in  outline  the  ancient 
beliefs  on  this  head.  Lambert's  first  axiom  is  to  the 
effect  that  u  Everything  exists  by  Motion  and  Number  ;  " 
and  the  second  is  the  corollary  of  this,  —  u  Motion  is 
in  one  sense  Number  in  action.,,  1  Now,  the  Pytha- 
gorean doctrine  teaches  that  the  fundamental  essences 
1  Compare  Zenocrates  :  "  The  soul  is  Number  in  action." 


xcii 


Introduction. 


of  things  rest  upon  numerical  relations.  Numbers  eon- 
tain  the  elements  of  all  things.  Everything  in  Nature 
can  be  reduced  to  numerical  conditions  ;  and  on  the 
hermetic  principle  of  correspondences  the  same  general 
law  applies  to  the  spiritual  world.  Numerals."  says 
one  Pythagorean.  are  the  invisible  coverings  of  beings, 
as  the  body  is  the  visible  one  :  that  is  to  say.  there  is  a 
double  characterism  of  things.  —  one  visible,  and  one  in- 
visible. Of  the  former,  the  visible  shape  is  Matter  :  of 
the  latter.  Number.  —  and  all  that  manifests  itself  is  the 
result  of  an  inward  energy,  and  this  energy  is  the 
emanation  of  a  power.  The  greater  or  lesser  quantity 
of  the  powers  expresses  the  material  number,  and  the 
greater  or  lesser  quantity  of  the  energy  expresses  the 
virtual  number.  There  are,  undoubtedly,  invisible  cov- 
erings, for  each  being  has  a  principle  and  a  form  :  but 
principle  and  form  are  opposite  extremes,  which  cannot 
meet  without  a  certain  bond  of  union  ;  this  bond  is 
formed  by  numerals."  In  other  words.  Number  is  the 
vehicle  through  which  the  spiritual  foundations  of  exist- 
ence and  phenomena  are  so  presented  as  to  be  open  to 
human  comprehension,  and  so  also  as  to  exhibit  the 
combinations,  attractions,  and  repulsions,  which  in  their 
ultimate  material  manifestation  are  perceived  as  har- 
monies and  discords.  To  proceed  with  the  citation  : 
"  Each  principle  is  an  unity  ;  this  becomes  a  real  being 
through  energy,  which  is,  however,  fixed  by  Number. 
As  the  laws  and  properties  of  things  are  impressed  on 
their  exteriors,  so  are  the  invisible  laws  and  properties 
upon  the  invisible  numerals  ;  or.  as  by  the  action  of  the 


Introduction. 


xciii 


sentient  faculties  through  the  senses  we  receive  certain 
impressions,  our  mind  also  receives  distinct  ideas  of  the 
invisible  positions  and  destinations  of  things,  as  soon  as 
it  can  comprehend  them."  According  to  this  doctrine 
the  opposite  elements  of  the  universe,  the  finite  and  the 
infinite,  are  manifested  everywhere  in  physical  opposites  ; 
namely,  one  and  many,  odd  and  even,  right  and  left,  up 
and  down,  fixed  and  moved,  straight  and  curved,  square 
and  oblong,  light  and  dark,  good  and  bad.  Unity  is  at 
once  the  essence  of  Number,  and  it  is  no  number,  —  for 
it  is  the  absolute,  the  deity.  The  primary  numerals 
are  1-10,  but  numerical  progression  is  virtually  infinite, 
potentially.  There  are  also  compound  numbers  to  ex- 
press the  various  relations  and  x  compositions  of  being, 
their  actions  and  influences  ;  there  are  central,  mediaiy, 
and  circumference  numbers ;  and  there  are  false  and 
impure  numbers. 

The  Pythagorean  Monad,  proceeding  from  itself,  gen- 
erates the  duad,  which  evolves  the  trinity ;  and  this, 
with  the  quaternary,  or  mystic  four,  composes  the  num- 
ber seven,  which  has  been  considered  to  possess  sa- 
cred significance  from  a  very  remote  period.  There  is 
ground  for  the  belief  that  ,  the  importance  ascribed  to 
seven  originated  in  Hindostan ;  and  one  strong  piece 
of  evidence  in  this  behalf  consists  in  the  extraordinarily 
frequent  employment  of  the  numeral  by  the  early  Aryan 
philosophers.  Thus  we  find  mention  of  the  Sapta-Hishi, 
or  Seven  Sages ;  the  Sapta-Loka,  or  Seven  Worlds ; 
the  Sapta-Kula,  or  Seven  Castes ;  the  Sapta-Pura,  or 
Seven  Holy  Cities;  the  Sapta-Duipa,  or  Seven  Holy 


xciv 


Introduction. 


Islands  ;  the  Sapta-Samudra,  or  Seven  Holy  Seas  ;  and 
so  on  through  a  long  list  of  septenary  divisions  and 
distinctions.  The  ascription  of  peculiar  characters,  vir- 
tues, and  properties  to  each  number  cannot  be  traced 
to  its  origin.  Pythagoras  followed  the  Egyptians,  who 
possessed  an  elaborate  system  of  mystic  numbers  ;  the 
Egyptians  drew  from  the  Chaldaeans  and  from  India. 
In  the  Pythagorean  scheme  the  following  definitions 
may  be  found  interesting.  They  are  usually  credited 
to  the  sage  himself,  though  probably  upon  somewhat 
doubtful  authority.  "  The  unit,  or  monad,"  he  is  repre- 
sented as  saying,  «  is  the  principle  and  the  end  of  all. 
It  is  this  sublime  knot  which  binds  together  the  chain 
of  causes  ;  it  is  the  symbol  of  identity,  of  equality, 
of  existence,  of  conservation,  and  of  general  harmony. 
Having  no  parts,  the  monad  represents  Divinity;  it 
announces  also  order,  peace,  and  tranquillity,  which 
are  founded  on  unity  of  sentiments  ;  consequently,  One 
is  a  good  principle.  The  number  Two,  or  the  duad, 
the  origin  of  contrasts,  is  the  symbol  of  diversity  or 
inequality,  of  division  and  of  separation.  Two  is  ac- 
cordingly an  evil  principle,  a  number  of  bad  augury, 
characterizing  disorder,  confusion,  and  change.  Three, 
or  the  triad,  is  the  first  of  unequals ;  it  is  the  number 
containing  the  most  sublime  mysteries,  for  everything 
is  composed  of  three  substances  ;  it  represents  God, 
the  soul  of  the  world,  the  spirit  of  man.  Four,  or  the 
tetrad,  as  the  first  mathematical  power,  is  also  one  of 
the  chief  elements.  It  represents  the  generating  virtue, 
whence  come  all  combinations ;  it  is  the  most  perfect 


Introduction. 


xcv 


of  numbers  ;  it  is  the  root  of  all  things.  It  is  holy  by 
nature,  since  it  constitutes  the  Divine  essence  by  re- 
calling His  unit}7,  His  power,  His  goodness,  and  His 
wisdom,  —  the  four  perfections  which  especially  char- 
acterize God."  The  oath  of  Pythagoras  was  by  the 
Quaternary  Number,  as  implying  the  most  solemn  and 
comprehensive  of  adjurations.  u  The  number  five,  or 
pentad,  has  a  peculiar  force  in  sacred  expiations  ;  it  is 
everything."  The  Pythagorean  pentad  pla}Ts  an  impor- 
tant part  in  occult  science.  "The  number  six,  or  the 
hexad,  is  a  fortunate  number.  Seven,  or  the  heptad, 
is  a  number  very  powerful  for  good  or  evil."  Its  fre- 
quent and  evidently  symbolic  employment  in  the  Bible 
will  occur  to  every  one.  u  The  number  eight,  or  the 
octad,  is  the  first  cube,  — that  is  to  say,  squared  in  all 
senses,  as  a  die,  proceeding  from  its  base  two,  an  even 
number ;  so  is  man  four-square.  The  number  nine,  or 
the  ennead,  being  the  multiple  of  three,  should  be  re- 
garded as  sacred."  Nine  is  a  sacred  number  in  Buddh- 
ism and  Brahmanism.  "Finally,  ten,  or  the  decad,  is 
the  measure  of  all,  since  it  contains  all  the  numeric 
relations  and  harmonies.  As  the  reunion  of  the  first 
four  numbers  it  plays  an  eminent  part,  since  all  the 
branches  of  science,  all  nomenclatures,  emanate  from 
and  retire  into  it."  It  will  be  necessary  to  speak  at 
greater  length  of  some  of  the  primary  numbers  here- 
after. At  present  this  general  view  may  suffice.  The 
connection  of  certain  numbers  with  Christian  dogmas 
is  probably  familiar  to  most  readers,  yet  perhaps  it  is 
worth  while  to  recall  the  formula.   According  to  this, 


xcvi 


Introduction. 


One  is  the  numeral  indicating  the  Unity  of  the  God- 
head ;  Two  points  to  the  hypostatic  union ;  Three,  to 
the  Trinity ;  Four,  to  the  Evangelists  ;  Five-  to  the  Sa- 
cred Wounds ;  Six  is  the  number  of  Sin ;  Seven,  that 
of  the  gifts  of  the  Spirit ;  Eight,  that  of  the  Beatitudes  ; 
Ten  is  the  number  of  the  Commandments  ;  Eleven  re- 
fers to  the  Apostles  after  the  withdrawal  of  Judas  ; 
Twelve,  to  the  complete  Apostolic  College. 

"  Know  God,"  says  Pythagoras,  "who  is  Number 
and  Harmony."  Again,  he  says  that  the  human  soul  is 
"Number  moving  itself."  Balzac  asserts  that  Motion 
and  Number  give  rise  to  all  phenomena,  and  that  Mo- 
tion is  in  a  sense  Number  in  action.  The  correlation 
between  these  doctrines  is  obvious,  but  it  is  equally 
clear  that  they  are  not  identical.  To  elucidate  Balzac 
more  thoroughly  it  will  be  necessary  to  supplement  the 
Pythagorean  ideas  with  some  which  belong  to  the  the- 
osophy  of  India.  According  to  that  system  of  thought 
there  exist  intimate  spiritual  relations  between  Number 
and  Speech,  and  through  Sound  the  human  will  may  be 
exerted  in  the  unseen  universe.  The  whole  elaborate 
scheme  of  mantrams  turns  upon  this  hypothesis  ;  and 
it  follows  from  the  latter  that  to  the  spoken  Number, 
as  to  the  spoken  Word,  there  pertain  certain  powers 
the  natural  manifestation  of  which  is  on  the  spiritual 
plane.  Thus  it  is  held  that  the  Mantra  and  Brali- 
manas  of  the  Vedas  comprise  respectively  a  body  of 
sacred  magic  and  its  exegesis,  and  that  the  verses  of 
the  Mantra  can  only  be  made  to  yield  their  concealed 
properties  by  pronouncing  or  chanting  them  in  an  order 


Introduction. 


xcvii 


and  rhythm  the  character  of  which  is  explained  in  the 
Brahmanas.  "Each  metre/'  says  Haug,  "is  the  in- 
visible master  of  something  visible  in  this  world  ;  it  is, 
as  it  were,  its  exponent  and  ideal.  This  great  signifi- 
cance of  the  metrical  speech  is  derived  from  the  num- 
ber of  syllables  of  which  it  consists,  for  each  thing  has 
(just  as  in  the  Pythagorean  system)  a  certain  numerical 
proportion.  .  .  .  These  forms,  along  with  their  contents, 
the  everlasting  T^ecfe-words,  are  symbols  expressive  of 
things  of  the  invisible  world,  and  in  several  respects 
comparable  to  the  Platonic  ideas."  Bulwer,  in  the 
"  Strange  Story,"  represents  Margrave  as  chanting  in 
some  Indian  tongue  verses  which  had  a  strange  effect 
upon  the  auditor.  Travellers  who  have  witnessed  the 
more  difficult  feats  of  the  Indian  Fakirs  know  that  the 
latter  chant  or  recite  mantrams  in  peculiar  rhythm, 
and  often  with  peculiar  effect.  In  that  country  the 
potency  of  rightly  employed  words  or  numbers  for 
thaumaturgic  purposes  is,  it  may  be  said,  universally 
believed.  ' 

It  may  then  be  assumed  that  in  his  use  of  Number 
as  associated  so  intimately  with  Motion  in  the  genesis 
of  phenomena,  Balzac  had  in  mind  the  archaic  and 
m^ystical  significance  of  numerals.  But  it  is  evident 
that  he  intended  also  another  and  less  recondite  sig- 
nification ;  and  this,  which  may  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
tinction be  termed  the  physical  meaning,  is  elucidated 
as  we  proceed  with  the  second  categoiy.  "Motion," 
he  continues,  "is  the  product  of  a  force  engendered 
by  the  Word  and  by  a  resistance  which  is  Matter. 

7 


xcviii 


Introduction. 


Without  this  resistance  Motion  would  have  been  with- 
out result,  for  its  action  would  have  been  infinite." 
This  scarcely  requires  interpretation,  being  little  more 
than  a  restatement  of  well-known  physical  laws,  except 
as  regards  the  energizing  power  of  the  Word,  which  in 
this  connection  stands  for  the  Creative  Will  in  opera- 
tion. All  the  forces  of  Nature  are  now  concluded  to 
be  modes  of  Motion  ;  and  it  is  by  Number  that  these 
forces  are  distinguished,  their  properties  gauged,  and 
their  differences  ascertained.  "Without  resistance/' 
sa}Ts  Herbert  Spencer,  u  there  can  be  merely  empty 
extension."  And  again,  4 '  Matter  cannot  be  conceived 
except  as  manifesting  forces  of  attraction  and  repul- 
sion." The  ultimate  reduction  of  the  atheistic  cosmol- 
ogy represents  the  Universe  as  matter  in  motion. 
Balzac  proceeds:  "  The  attraction  of  Newton  is  not  a 
law,  but  an  effect  of  the  general  law  of  universal  Mo- 
tion." This  may  seem  at  first  sight  both  obscure  and 
paradoxical,  but  it  embodies  keen  suggestion  and  prob- 
able truth.  In  the  first  place,  it  cannot  be  too  con- 
stantly remembered  that  Newton  himself  refused  to 
give  to  his  theory  of  gravitation  the  significance  as- 
cribed to  it  by  the  majority  of  those  who  followed  him. 
His  own  position  was  quite  clearly  stated  in  his  third 
letter  to  Bentley,  in  which  he  said:  "It  is  inconceiv- 
able that  inanimate  brute  matter  should,  without  the 
mediation  of  something  else  which  is  not  material, 
operate  upon  and  affect  other  matter,  without  mutual 
contact,  as  it  must  do  if  gravitation,  in  the  sense  of 
Epicurus,  be  essential  and  inherent  in  it.    And  this  is 


Introduction. 


xcix 


the  reason  why  I  desired  that  you  would  not  ascribe 
innate  gravity  to  me.  That  gravity  should  be  innate, 
inherent,  and  essential  to  matter,  so  that  one  body  m&y 
act  upon  another  at  a  distance,  through  a  vacuum, 
without  the  mediation  of  anything  else  by  and  through 
which  their  action  may  be  convejed  from  one  to  an- 
other, is  to  me  so  great  an  absurdity  that  I  believe  no 
man  who  has  in  philosophical,  matters  a  competent 
faculty  of  thinking  can  ever  fall  into  it.  Gravity  must 
be  caused  by  an  agent  acting  constantly  according  to 
certain  laws ;  but  whether  this  agent  be  material  or 
immaterial  I  have  left  to  the  consideration  of  my  read- 
ers." In  effect,  Newton  regarded  gravitation  not  as  a 
primary  but  as  a  secondary  phenomenon,  and  since  his 
time  the  progress  of  science  has  only  emphasized  the 
weight  and  extent  of  the  difficulties  which  surround 
the  whole  subject ;  and  these  difficulties  have  impelled 
many  men  of  science  to  seek  some  new  hypothesis 
capable  of  accounting  for  the  phenomena  without  in- 
volving the  contradictions  wiiich  are  inseparable  from 
the  commonly  accepted  theory.  Now,  as  Professor 
Tait  observes:  "  One  only  of  the  many  hypotheses 
which  have  been  advanced  to  explain  the  cause  of 
gravitation  has  succeeded  in  passing  the  first  prelimi- 
nary tests.  Of  course,  the  assumption  of  action  at  a 
distance  may  be  made  to  account  for  anything ;  but  it 
is  impossible  (as  Newton  long  ago  pointed  out  in  his 
celebrated  letter  to  Bentley)  for  any  one  '  who  has  in 
philosophical  matters  a  competent  faculty  of  thinking' 
for  a  moment  to  admit  the  possibility  of  such  action. " 


0 


Introduction, 


There  are  accordingly  "  but  two  ways  of  accounting  for 
gravitation :  either  it  is  due  to  differences  of  pressure 
in  a  substance  continuously  filling  all  space,  or  it  is 
due  to  impacts,  in  some  respects  analogous  to  those  of 
the  particles  of  a  gas  which  have  been  found  to  be  ca- 
pable of  accounting  for  gaseous  pressure. "  So  far  all 
attempts  to  connect  gravity  with  the  luminiferous  ether 
have  failed.  It  does  not  follow  necessarily  that  the 
impact  theory  is  the  true  one.  On  the  contrary,  the 
theory  as  laid  down  by  Le  Sage  has  been  met  by  Clark- 
Maxwell  with  objections  which  appear  fatal  to  it,  and 
the  present  state  of  the  whole  question  witnesses  to  a 
defeat  of  science  at  every  point.  Action  at  a  distance, 
it  is  asserted,  is  impossible,  unthinkable.  Yet  this  im- 
possibility proves  to  be  an  ultimate  fact  which  cannot 
be  explained  satisfactorily  on  the  principles  of  impact 
and  pressure  of  bodies  in  immediate  contact.  Science 
holds  to  hypotheses  which  do  not  elucidate  the  phe- 
nomena, and  it  adheres  tenaciously  to  an  axiom  which 
is  altogether  irreconcilable  with  observation.  The  field, 
then,  is  still  virtually  unoccupied ;  demonstration  has 
not  been  made ;  and  though  the  claim  that  gravity  is  a 
mode  of  motion  like  light  and  heat  and  electricity  may 
be  met  with  the  objection  that  this  force  apparently  has 
no  analogy  with  those  other  forces,  there  is  ample  room 
for  discoveries  calculated  to  modify  this  position.  The 
chief  observed  difference  between  gravity  and  the  other 
natural  forces  consists  in  the  fact  that  whereas  light, 
heat,  sound,  etc.,  require  a  calculable  time  for  their 
transmission  to  distant  points,  the  action  of  gravity  is 


Introduction.  ci 

apparently  instantaneous.  To  employ  scientific  terms, 
the  other  modes  of  motion  are  propagated  with  a  finite 
velocity.  Yet  gravity,  though  so  much  swifter  in 
action  than  most  of  the  other  forces,  is  comparatively 
a  weak  force,  dependent  for  its  influence  upon  mass. 
Another  peculiarity  of  it  is  its  entire  independence  of 
all  interfering  bodies.  It  operates,  to  all  appearance, 
as  if  such  bodies  were  diaphanous,  nor  can  any  trace 
of  deflection  be  perceived  in  its  action. 

But  there  may  be  natural  forces  as  swift  in  their 
action  as  gravity.  There  may  be  modes  of  Motion 
with  which  science  is  as  yet  unacquainted.  Professor 
Crookes  has  posited  a  fourth  state  of  matter  (called 
radiant)  the  properties  of  which  are  in  several  respects 
new,  and-  acceptance  of  the  reality  of  which  would  in- 
volve radical  revision  in  many  directions.  In  the  pres- 
ent condition  of  uncertainty  perhaps  the  most  that 
should  be  ventured  is  this :  that  since  the  real  na- 
ture or  cause  of  gravitation  is  absolutely  unknown, 
since  no  theory  has  been  proposed  in  explanation  of  the 
phenomena  which  is  capable  of  accounting  for  them  or 
for  all  of  them,  and  since  all  other  natural  forces  have 
within  the  past  fifty  years  been  ascertained  to  be  modes 
of  Motion,  it  is  not  prudent  to  make  gratuitous  assump- 
tions either  affirmatively  or  negatively  in  the  present 
case,  and  it  certainly  is  not  possible  to  disprove  the 
proposition  of  Balzac  in  the  premises.  Of  late  years 
the  scientific  imagination  has  been  so  stimulated  by 
great  discoveries  and  the  continual  expansion  of  the 
field  of  possibilit}7,  that  sometimes  it  seems  question- 


cii 


Introduction. 


able  whether  a  tendency  to  the  invention  of  pure  fictions 
is  not  manifesting  itself.  Such  a  suspicion,  however, 
may  in  itself  be  simply  a  survival  from  the  narrow 
ancestral  conservatism  which  affects  us  all  more  or  less. 
True  science  is  bound  to  follow  Truth  though  she  lead 
the  seeker  to  Hades,  and  in  the  startling  guesses  and 
suggestions  latterly  advanced,  may  hereafter  be  rec- 
ognized adumbrations  of  great  truths,  —  not  indeed 
now  for  the  first  time  disclosed  to  human  intelligences, 
but  re-discovered  after  being  lost  in  a  reactionary  pe- 
riod by  extinct  races  or  peoples.  It  is  a  somewhat 
significant  fact  that  some  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the 
new  suggestions  appear  in  the  domain  of  mathematics 
and  the  department  of  geometry .  The  speculations  of 
Gauss,  Riemann,  Zollner,  and  others  have  probably  ren- 
dered most  of  these  novel  ideas  familiar  to  the  general 
reader.  Professor  Tait  in  one  of  his  lectures  referred 
to  one  daring  speculation  as  follows:  "The  properties 
of  space,  involving  (we  know  not  why)  the  essential 
element  of  three  dimensions,  have  recently  been  sub- 
jected to  a  careful  scrutiny  by  mathematicians  of  the 
highest  order,  such  as  Riemann  and  Helmholtz  ;  and 
the  result  of  their  inquiries  leaves  it  as  }7et  undecided 
whether  space  ma}T  or  may  not  have  precisely  the  same 
properties  throughout  the  universe.  To  obtain  an  idea 
of  what  is  meant  by  such  a  statement,  consider  that  in 
crumpling  a  leaf  of  paper,  which  may  be  taken  as  rep- 
resenting space  of  two  dimensions,  we  may  have  some 
portions  of  it  plane,  and  other  portions  more  or  less 
cylindrically  or  conically  curved.     But  an  inhabitant 


Introduction. 


ciii 


of  such  a  sheet,  though  living  in  space  of  two  dimen- 
sions only,  and  therefore,  we  might  say  beforehand, 
incapable  of  appreciating  the  third  dimension,  would 
certainly  feel  some  difference  of  sensations  in  passing 
from  portions  of  his  space  which  were  less,  to  other 
portions  which  were  more,  curved.  So  it  is  possible 
that,  in  the  rapid  march  of  the  solar  system  through 
space,  we  may  be  gradually  passing  to  regions  in  which 
space  has  not  precisely  the  same  properties  as  we  find 
here,  where  it  may  have  something  in  three  dimensions 
analogous  to  curvature  in  two  dimensions,  —  some- 
thing, in  fact,  which  will  necessarily  imply  a  fourth- 
dimension  change  of  form  in  portions  of  matter  in 
order  that  they  may  adapt  themselves  to  their  new 
locality.' ■  ' 

Now,  the  significance  of  the  above  quotation  is  this  : 
it  shows  with  what  eagerness,  and  with  how  free  a  use 
of  the  scientific  imagination,  even  great  mathematicians 
address  themselves  to  the  solution  of  problems  arising 
out  of  phenomena  the  reality  of  which  cannot  be  dis- 
puted, yet  which  have  the  appearance  of  transcending 
known  laws  of  Nature.  It  is  desirable  that  the  per- 
plexities of  Science  under  such  conditions  should  be 
recognized  clearly,  because  those  who,  like  Balzac,  de- 
rive their  beliefs  from  a  broader  and  more  comprehen- 
sive scheme  of  philosophy  and  psychology,  assert  the 
error  of  these  followers  of  the  mechanical  theory,  de- 
clare them  to  be  groping  in  the  dark  hopelessly  when 
they  fly  in  the  face  of  their  own  most  cherished  princi- 
ples in  propounding  such  notions  as  Professor  Tait  out- 


civ 


Introduction. 


lines  above,  and  affirm  that  if  men  of  science  would  pay 
as  much  attention  to  the  higher  conditions  of  Matter  as 
they  do  to  the  lower,  they  might  discover  means  of  ad- 
justing their  now  confused  and  conflicting  hypotheses, 
and  might  even  come  to  understand  the  possibility  of  a 
four-dimensional  space  in  perpetual  contact  with  that 
three-dimensional  space  in  which  the  operations  of  the 
present  phases  of  existence  are  carried  on.    For  it  is 
the  crass  Materialism  of  modern  Science  which  interferes 
with  its  advance  in  the  most  profound  and  momen- 
tous problems.     Even  when  such  men  as  Professors 
Tait  and  Stewart  entered  upon  what  seemed  to  them  a 
most  daring  venture,  and  wrote  the  "  Unseen  Uni- 
verse," their  main  endeavor  was  to  secure  for  the  doc- 
trine of  a  future  life  some  slight  scientific  standing  by 
demonstrating  that  after  all  it  was  not  wholly  or  hope- 
lessly unscientific.     Students  of  Occultism  and  the 
Wisdom-Religion  can  but  smile  at  such  evidences  of 
timid  and  creeping  conservatism  masquerading  as  the 
boldest  speculation.    Perhaps  even  the  attempt  to  ob- 
tain a  foothold  for  psychologic  truth  in  the  territory  of 
Materialistic  Science  is  commendable,  but  it  is  plain 
enough  that  stronger  measures  will  be  required  before 
the  reaction  can  be  induced  which  is  alone  capable  of 
vitalizing  physical  research. 

The  fourth  axiom  declares  as  follows:  "Motion, 
by  reason  of  Resistance,  produces  a  combination  which 
is  life;  with  the  preponderance  of  either  of  these 
agencies,  life  ceases."  The  extreme  concentration  of 
thought  in  these  propositions  renders  them  peculiarly 


Introduction. 


cv 


liable  to  misinterpretation.  In  the  present  case  the 
breadth  of  the  generalization  is  such  that  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  author  can  only  be  reached  by  following  the 
line  of  reasoning  by  which  he  arrives  at  his  tersely 
stated  conclusion.  At  the  first  glance  it  might  be 
thought  that  the  scientific  heresy  of  Abiogenesis  was 
involved  in  Balzac's  statement,  but  it  may  be  hoped 
that  no  reader  who  has  carefully  gone  over  the  preced- 
ing pages  can  fall  into  such  an  error.  Motion  and 
Resistance,  or  Action  and  Reaction,  operating  upon 
Matter,  produce  the  phenomena  of  life.  Such  is  the 
position  to  be  considered.  Now,  it  is  a  generally  ac- 
cepted conclusion  that  dead  Matter  cannot  produce  a 
living  organism  ;  in  other  words,  the  law  of  Biogenesis 
is  commonly  held.  The  Unity  of  Nature  is  also  re- 
ceived at  present  by  scientific  men,  —  as  it  was  more 
than  two  thousand  years  ago  by  philosophers  to-day 
almost  forgotten,  notwithstanding  the  obligations  to 
them  of  modern  thought.  But  half  the  current  contro- 
versies turn  on  the  interpretation  given  to  the  terms 
Matter  and  Spirit,  and  without  definitely  fixing  the 
meaning  to  be  given  to  these  terms  discussion  is  a  waste 
of  time.  There  are  some  advocates  of  the  atomo- 
mechanical  theory  who,  like  Professor  Tyndall,  insist 
on  regarding  atoms  or  molecules  as  definite  and  distinct 
realities.  Perhaps  it  is  not  of  much  consequence,  and 
perhaps  this  realistic  view  facilitates  the  exercise  of  the 
scientific  imagination.  But  it  must  be  said  that  Balzac's 
Matter  is  in  its  ultimate  analysis  more  refined  than  that 
of  Professor  Tyndall,  and  also  a  more  logical  and 


cvi 


Introduction. 


philosophical  conception,  since  as  a  matter  of  fact  the 
Professor's  solid  and  real  atoms  are  pure  abstractions. 
But  there  ought  not  to  be  an  insuperable  difficulty  in 
pushing  our  conception  of  the  tenuity  of  Matter  be- 
yond the  farthest  reach  of  chemical  analysis,  for  within 
our  grasp  and  under  our  eyes  the  combinations,  muta- 
tions, and  organizations  of  the  primal  substance  are  so 
manifold  and  subtend  so  wide  an  arc  that  the  mind  of 
man  may  fairly  argue  a  practically  illimitable  poten- 
tiality for  these  Protean  variations.  If  it  is  possible 
to  accept  the  modern  doctrine  of  a  single  physical  basis 
of  life,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  stop  there.  And  how 
much  is  conceded  in  accepting  that  doctrine  !  As  Pro- 
fessor Huxley  himself  observed  in  propounding  it, 
twenty  years  ago :  u  What,  truly,  can  seem  to  be  more 
obviously  different  from  one  another,  in  faculty,  in  form, 
and  in  substance,  than  the  various  kinds  of  living  be- 
ings? What  communit}7  of  faculty  can  there  be  between 
the  brightly  colored  lichen  which  so  nearly  resembles  a 
mere  mineral  incrustation  of  the  bare  rock  on  which  it 
grows,  and  the  painter,  to  whom  it  is  instinct  with 
beaut}r,  or  the  botanist,  whom  it  feeds  with  knowl- 
edge?" Again  he  says:  "Picture  to  yourselves  the 
great  Finner  whale,  hugest  of  beasts  that  live  or  have 
lived,  disporting  his  eighty  or  ninety  feet  of  bone,  mus- 
cle, and  blubber,  witli  easy  roll,  among  waves  in  which 
the  stoutest  ship  that  ever  left  dockyard  would  founder 
hopelessly,  and  contrast  him  with  the  invisible  animal- 
cules, —  mere  gelatinous  specks,  multitudes  of  which 
could,  in  fact,  dance  upon  the  point  of  a  needle  with 


Introduction. 


cvii 


the  same  ease  as  the  angels  of  the  schoolmen  could,  in 
imagination.  With  these  images  before  your  minds, 
you  may  well  ask,  What  community  of  form  or  struc- 
ture is  there  between  the  animalcule  and  the  whale  ?  " 
Yet  he  proceeds  to  demonstrate  that  "protoplasm, 
simple  or  nucleated,  is  the  formal  basis  of  all  life.  It 
is  the  clay  of  the  potter ;  which,  bake  it  and  paint  it  as 
he  will,  remains  clay,  separated  by  artifice  and  not  b}^ 
Nature,  from  the  commonest  brick  or  sun-dried  clod." 
Plasson-body  or  Amoeba  bounds  the  physical  analysis 
of  life,  and  Science  has  no  ground  for  dissatisfaction 
with  the  extent  of  the  domain  thus  opened  to  her. 

When  in  his  Belfast  address  Professor  Tyndall  said, 
"  If  you  ask  me  whether  there  exists  the  least  evidence 
to  prove  that  any  form  of  life  can  be  developed  out  of 
Matter,  without  demonstrable  antecedent  life,  my  reply 
is  that  evidence  considered  perfectly  conclusive  by  many 
has  been  adduced,"  —  he  was  reviled  as  maintaining  the 
doctrine  of  Spontaneous  Generation.  That  doctrine, 
as  alread}'  remarked,  has  not  been  at  all  generally  ac- 
cepted, but  for  the  reason,  not  that  it  is  inherently  ab- 
horrent or  repulsive,  but  that  the  demonstration  of  the 
fact  is  not  considered  to  be  conclusive.  Of  course, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  those  who  regard  Matter  as 
separated  altogether  from  Spirit,  the  demonstration  of 
Abiogenesis  wrould  be  disastrous  ;  it  would  seem  to  es- 
tablish Materialism  impregnably,  and  to  expel  Deity 
from  the  universe.  But  to  those  who  hold  that  Matter 
and  Spirit  are  merely  terms  given  to  different  manifes- 
tations of  one  and  the  same  fundamental  reality,  Bio- 


cviii 


Introduction, 


genesis  and  Abiogenesis  are  alike  conceivable  and 
acceptable.  For  if  what  we  call  Spirit  truly  pervades 
what  we  call  Matter,  and  is  in  the  last  analysis  identical 
with  the  latter,  it  follows  that  the  elimination  of  the 
spiritual  from  any  form  of  generation,  from  any  depart- 
ment of  Biological  Science,  is  as  impossible  as  the  bi- 
section of  one  of  Professor  Tyndall's  real  molecules. 
Huxley  has  expressed  the  opinion  that  "in  itself  it  is 
of  little  moment  whether  we  express  the  phenomena  of 
Matter  in  terms  of  Spirit,  or  the  phenomena  of  Spirit  in 
terms  of  Matter."  This  is,  however,  true  only  in  a  re- 
stricted sense.  It  does  signify  a  great  deal  whether  we 
use  terms  of  Matter  or  terms  of  Spirit.  It  commonly 
makes  all  the  difference  between  intelligibility  and 
non-intelligibility,  —  and  that  assuredly  is  not  of  little 
moment. 

Balzac  does  not  give  much  help  toward  the  explana- 
tion of  details,  but  in  dealing  with  the  origin  of  life  he 
had  to  do  with  a  problem  solved  neither  before  nor 
since  his  time.  Following  his  synthesis,  nevertheless,  it 
is  possible  to  obtain  a  sufficiently  clear  idea  of  what  he 
meant  to  convey  and  of  what  underlies  his  generaliza- 
tion. From  the  reference  to  and  eulogies  of  Bichat,  in 
the  description  of  Louis  Lambert's  college  life,  it  might 
be  inferred  that  Balzac  was  indebted  to  that  brilliant 
but  short-lived  physiologist  for  his  axiom  regarding  the 
origin  of  life  ;  but  while  he  employs  some  of  Bichat's 
doctrines  to  illustrate  Lambert's  intellectual  reach  and 
precocity,  there  is  no  ground  for  the  belief  that  in  fram- 
ing the  categories  which  embrace  the  final  expressions 


Introduction. 


cix 


of  that  powerful  mind,  anything  more  is  to  be  found 
of  Bichat's  than  some  fragments  of  his  terminology. 
!Bichat  defined  life  as  "  Fensemble  des  fonctions  qui  re- 
sistent  a  la  mort,"  —  clearly  an  inexact  and  unfortunate 
definition  ;  for  adaptation,  not  resistance,  is  the  controll- 
ing principle  of  life,  —  adaptation  of  the  organism  to  its 
environment.  Bichat  imagined  an  inherent  principle 
of  resistance  to  the  external  forces  which  were  hostile 
to  life,  and  the  extent  of  his  real  services  to  physiology 
cannot  obscure  the  fact  that  in  this  part  of  his  theory 
he  was  altogether  astray.  Balzac  has  used  some  of  his 
terms,  but  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  evident  that 
he  has  not  adopted  the  same  fallacy.  Action  and  Re- 
action are  the  agencies  really  postulated  in  Louis  Lam- 
bert. Life,  in  fact,  as  described  here,  may  be  compared 
with  a  somewhat  parallel  passage  in  Lotze's  "Micro- 
cosmos."  He  is  speaking  of  the  body,  of  which  he 
says  :  "  Its  life  is  like  an  eddy  produced  in  the  bed  of  a 
stream  b}r  a  peculiarly  shaped  obstacle.  The  general 
course  of  Nature  is  the  stream,  the  organized  body,  the 
obstacle  against  which  this  breaks  ;  and  its  peculiar 
shape  converts  the  uniform  and  straight  currents  of  the 
water  into  the  strange  windings  and  crossings  of  the 
whirlpool."  Life,  in  other  words,  is  not  a  stable  con- 
dition, but  one  of  continual  flux  and  reflux.  Broadly 
speaking,  two  principles  or  tendencies  govern  organic 
life,  —  the  tendency  of  that  life  to  indefinite  and  rapid  in- 
crease ;  the  tendency  of  external  forces  to  check  or  stop 
such  increase.  But  for  the  latter,  the  earth  would 
speedily  be  overstocked  wTith  every  kind  of  living  crea- 


cx 


Introduction. 


ture ;  but  for  the  former,  every  living  creature  would 
speedily  succumb  in  the  unequal  struggle  for  existence. 
The  equilibrium  of  life  is  unstable.  The  predominance 
of  either  of  its  dominant  causes  will  overthrow  it.  This 
is  the  interpretation  of  Balzac's  proposition,  which  is 
thus  seen  not  to  be  discordant  with  the  latest  conclu- 
sions of  science,  but  rather  to  transcend,  and  in  tran- 
scending to  harmonize  and  strengthen  them.  When 
Professor  Tyndall  ascribes  all  terrestrial  vitality  to  the 
sun,  the  religious  non-scientific  mind  revolts  from  what 
it  regards  as  a  purely  mechanical  and  atheistic  doc- 
trine. It  is  true  that  the  professor  himself  disclaims 
all  pretence  of  understanding  anything  of  final  causes. 
44  Science,"' he  says,  44  knows  nothing  of  the  origin  or 
destiny  of  Nature.  Who  or  what  made  the  sun,  and 
gave  his  rays  their  alleged  power ;  who  or  what  made 
and  bestowed  upon  the  ultimate  particles  of  matter  their 
wondrous  power  of  varied  interaction?  Science  does 
not  know ;  the  mystery,  though  pushed  back,  remains 
unaltered."  But  Science  is  not  so  modest  as  these  re- 
marks imply.  Her  followers  certainly  have  attempted 
to  answer  the  questions  put  to  her,  and  some  of  them 
from  the  standpoint  of  an  alleged  agnosticism  indis- 
tinguishable from  atheism.  Balzac's  cosmology,  being 
primarily  spiritual,  is  in  no  such  need  of  provisos  and 
apologies.  Granted  that  what  is  called  Matter  includes 
Spirit  or  is  Spirit  under  certain  conditions,  and  it  be- 
comes not  merely  possible  but  easy  to  regard  the  sun 
as  the  immediate  agent  of  terrestrial  vitality,  without 
yielding  one  jot  or  tittle  of  the  spiritual  hypothesis. 


Introduction. 


cxi 


The  Creative  Will  manifesting  through  Motion  upon 
Matter  and  engendering  life  is  a  perfectly  thinkable 
doctrine,  and  it  possesses  the  advantage  of  representing 
the  dual  nature  of  the  human  mind  in  a  perfectly  har- 
monious synthesis. 

"Nowhere,"  proceeds  Balzac,  "  is  Motion  sterile. 
Everywhere  it  engenders  Number ;  but  it  may  be  neu- 
tralized by  a  superior  resistance,  as  in  minerals."  This 
axiom  may  be  considered  in  conjunction  with  the 
following  one:  "Number,  which  produces  all  the  va- 
rieties [of  organic  life],  at  the  same  time  generates 
Harmony,  which,  in  the  highest  acceptation,  is  the  rela- 
tion between  parts  and  Unity."  The  statement  that 
Motion  engenders  Number  refers  to  the  molecular  com- 
binations whose  numerical  proportions  determine  the 
character  of  the  resulting  organism.  Take,  in  illustra- 
tion, the  chemical  composition  of  a  plasson-body,  which 
is  the  simplest  living  germ,  a  particle  of  matter  without 
structure  and  organization,  and  absolute!}7  homogene- 
ous. It  is  in  fact  unorganized  protoplasm,  and  there- 
fore at  the  very  beginnings  of  terrestrial  vitality.  Now, 
this  plasson-body  is  composed  as  follows  :  In  one  hun- 
dred parts  it  has  fifty-four  of  carbon,  twenty-one  of 
oxygen,  sixteen  of  nitrogen,  seven  of  hydrogen,  and  two 
of  sulphur.  Of  course  it  is  open  to  any  one  to  object 
that  the  chemical  analysis  must  have  been  made  upon  a 
plasson-bodjT  which  had  ceased  to  live,  and  that  there- 
fore it  does  not  really  show  the  composition  of  living 
protoplasm.  Professor  Huxley  endeavors  to  meet  this 
objection  with  the  remark  that,  strictly  speaking,  we 


cxii 


Introduction. 


do  not  and  cannot  know  the  composition  of  any  bodies 
with  exactness  ;  but  the  answer  hardly  meets  the  case, 
and  it  is  obvious  that  the  cessation  of  vitality  may  — 
and  in  the  opinion  of  many,  must  —  be  followed  by 
changes  in  the  organism  (prior  to  decomposition)  which 
are  liable  to  vitiate  the  conclusions  founded  on  post- 
mortem analysis.  At  present,  however,  we  are  not 
concerned  with  that  question.  It  is  the  relation  of 
Number  to  organic  variation  with  which  we  are  dealing. 
Every  combination  of  plasson-bodies  is  in  fact  a  ques- 
tion of  numbers.  According  to  the  proportions  in  which 
the  groups  of  molecules  which  build  up  organisms  are 
combined,  is  the  character  of  the  perfected  organism. 
The  same  primary  composition  enters  into  all  organic 
structures.  Out  of  this  simple  protoplasmic  substance, 
by  numerical  arrangement  and  combination,  proceed 
the  entire  and  enormous  series  of  variations  which  in 
the  first  place  determine  the  form  and  structure  of  the 
interior  organs,  and  in  the  second  place  decide  the 
species  and  character  of  the  organism.  With  regard  to 
what  Balzac  calls  the  neutralization '  of  Motion  in  the 
mineral  bodies,  it  is  perhaps  less  complete- than  he  sup- 
posed, for  it  is  not  now  regarded  as  certain  that  what 
to  the  imperfect  vision  of  the  human  eye  appears  a  con- 
dition of  absolute  rest  is  really  so. 

The  production  of  Harmony  from  the  numerical  ar- 
rangement of  species  and  varieties  is  inevitable,  for  the 
Number  spoken  of  is  the  Law  which  pervades  all  Na- 
ture, and  by  virtue  of  which  order,  regularity,  and  se- 
quence exist.    This  Harmony,  too,  is  the  connecting 


Introduction. 


cxiii 


Jink,  the  nexus,  between  the  Parts  and  Unit}*,  as  Balzac 
puts  it.  Thus  from  the  operation  of  Motion  upon  Mat- 
ter—  for  example,  the  Motion  of  the  sun's  rays  — pro- 
ceeds Life;  and  from  the  operation  of  Number  upon 
the  physical  basis  of  Life  proceeds  organized  vitality ; 
and  in  the  same  way  that  Number  which  engenders 
vital  organization  and  variation,  evolves  Harmony, 
which  is  the  effect  of  Law.  It  is  interesting  to  note  the 
efforts  of  men  of  science  who  cannot  accept  the  mechan- 
ical theory  of  the  universe,  to  obtain  a  basis  for  a 
scheme  of  thought  closely  allied  to  Balzac's.  Thus  we 
find  Professor  Tait  arguing  from  the  biogenetical  point 
of  view  in  this  manner:  "If  then  the  matter  of  this 
present  visible  universe  be  not  capable  of  itself,  that  is 
to  say,  in  virtue  of  the  forces  and  qualities  with  which 
it  has  been,  endowed,  of  generating  life,  but  if  we  must 
look  to  the  unseen  universe  for  the  origin  of  life,  this 
would  appear  to  show  that  the  peculiar  collocation  of 
matter  which  accompanies  the  operations  of  life  is  not  a 
mere  grouping  of  particles  of  the  visible  universe,  but 
implies  likewise  some  peculiarity  in  .the  connection  of 
these  with  the  unseen  universe.  May  it  not  denote  in 
fact  some  peculiarity  of  structure  extending  to  the  un- 
seen ?  "  There  seems  to  be  need  for  some  clearer  defi- 
nition of  the  terms  u  visible  "  and  u  unseen  "  here  ;  for 
a  large  proportion  of  the  universe,  with  the  phenomena 
of  which  Science  deals  freely,  is  as  a  matter  of  fact 
quite  as  much  '■'  unseen  "  as  any  conceivable  abstraction 
could  be.  Indeed  the  whole  atomic  theory,  the  undula- 
tory  theory  of  light,  the  theory  of  gravitation,  not  to 


cxiv 


Introduction. 


speak  of  other  problems  of  the  first  importance,  involve 
the  treatment  of  imponderable  and  invisible  forces  or 
substances,  the  postulation  of  which,  however  neces- 
sar}\  has  been  attended  with  difficulties  the  insoluble 
character  of  several  of  which  testifies  to  the  existence 
of  an  incertitude  harcllj'  to  be  exceeded  by  the  most 
daring  speculations  concerning  what  Professor  Tait  not 
infelicitously  terms  the  "  unseen  universe." 

The  seventh  axiom  derives  from  the  preceding  ones  : 
"  Without  Motion  all  would  be  one  and  the  same  sub- 
stance. Its  products,  identical  in  their  essence,  are 
differentiated  only  by  the  Number  which  determines 
faculties  (or  properties)."  Probably  one  of  the  first 
speculations  of  the  human  mind  had  reference  to  the  in- 
timate connection  between  Motion  and  Life  and  be- 
tween apparent  absolute  Pest  and  Death.  There  is  no 
cosmical  theory,  however  ancient,  which  does  not  postu- 
late the  vitalization  of  matter  in  a  state  of  rest  by  the 
introduction  to  it  of  Motion.  Five  hundred  years  be- 
fore the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era  Anaxagoras  was 
engaged  in  such  a  speculation.  He  imagined  Space 
to  be  filled  with  a  chaotic  mass  of  stagnant,  lifeless 
substances.  Then  Mind  began  to  work  upon  it,  com- 
municating Motion,  which  in  turn  engendered  Order. 
Anaxagoras  is  entitled  to  the  credit  of  initiating  the 
vortical  theory  also  ;  for  according  to  him  the  operative 
Mind  communicated  a  revolving  motion  at  a  single 
point.  Half  a  century  later  Leucippus  promulgated  an 
extension  of  this  theory  which  offered  a  closer  analogy 
to  the  modern  nebular  hypothesis,  for  Leucippus  filled 


Introduction. 


cxv 


his  space  with  atoms.  But  whatever  the  nature  of  the 
superstructure,  this  has  always  been  a  fundamental  pos- 
tulate :  that  Motion  is  the  force  by  which  Matter  is  vivi- 
fied and  differentiated.  Balzac,  with  Zenocrates  and 
others,  gives  to  Number  the  function  of  differentiation ; 
and  with  reason,  whether  we  regard  the  attribution 
exoterically  or  esoterically.  Modern  Science  depends 
largely  upon  Numbers  for  its  activity  and  progress. 
In  fact  it  could  effect  nothing  without  them.  It  also 
encounters  in  its  research  many  curious  and  hitherto  in- 
explicable laws  of  Nature,  which  appear  to  assign  cer- 
tain particular  numbers  to  certain  kingdoms  of  animal, 
vegetable,  or  other  life.  Thus  in  a  recent  treatise  on 
"The  Origin  of  Floral  Structures"  by  Rev.  George 
Henslow,  five  Principles  of  Variation  in  flowers  are 
specified,  and  of  these  Number  is  the  first  and  most  im- 
portant. Now,  Dr.  Henslow  has  observed  that  certain 
numbers  appear  to  be  preferred  by  Nature  in  the  floral 
kingdom.  The  numbers  three  and  five  (as  applied  to 
floral  whorls)  appear  to  dominate  all  others  ;  the  num- 
bers seven  and  eleven  are  very  rare  ;  and  so  on.  The 
rational  inference  of  course  is  that  the  external  agen- 
cies which  produce  or  assist  variation  operate  most 
easily  in  such  ways  as  tend  to  development  in  the  pre- 
vailing numerical  method,  and  this  involves  a  similar 
special  facility  of  development  in  these  lines  for  the 
plant  itself.  But  why  it  should  be  easiest  for  flowers 
to  vary  in  these  particular  numerical  ways,  Science  is 
quite  unable  to  explain.  Some  of  the  ancients  supposed 
that  the  atoms  themselves  were  animated  and  possessed 


cxvi 


Introduction. 


of  conscious  intelligence.  This  was  only  shifting,  not 
removing,  a  difficulty,  though  the  old  method  of  solving 
hard  problems  has  by  no  means  lost  its  attraction 
through  lapse  of  time.  It  is,  however,  as  Balzac  puts  it, 
essentially  upon  Number  that  differentiation  depends  \ 
specific  collocations  of  atoms  or  molecules  in  definite 
proportions  determining  the  functions,  properties,  and 
faculties  of  everv  material  organism*  Motion  acting 
upon  Matter  produces  Life.  Number  operating  upon 
animated  Matter  decides  what  kind  of  living  thing  shall 
result  from  organization.  Number  without  Motion 
would  effect  nothing.  Matter  without  Motion  would  be 
homogeneous  and  exanimate.  Motion  without  Number 
could  only  vivify,  but  could  not  co-ordinate.  But  Mo- 
tion never  acts  alone.  As  Balzac  says,  it  everywhere 
engenders  Number,  and  thus  it  is  in  a  way  Number  in 
action.  Motion  originates  Life,  and  Number  utilizes 
it  by  ordering  its  manifestations.  Thus  is  produced 
that  Harmony  which  is  spoken  of  as  the  relation  be- 
tween the  Parts  and  Unity,  —  which  is  of  necessity  the 
Whole. 

The  eighth  axiom  is  brief,  but  not  on  that  account 
easy  of  comprehension :  "Man  is  related  to  faculties; 
the  Angel  is  related  to  essence."  Human  life  is  the  re- 
sult of  the  descent  of  Spirit  into  Matter.  In  this  phase 
of  existence  the  higher  entity  is  "subdued  to  what  it 
works  in."  It  cannot  raise  the  coarser  .material  ele- 
ments to  its  own  plane.  It  must  consequently  adapt 
itself  to  them,  —  to  its  environment;  in  short.  Now,  the 
animation  of  matter,  as  has  been  seen,  is  but  one  of  a 


Introduction. 


cxvii 


number  of  processes,  all  of  which  are  necessary  to  the 
production  of  that  complex,  many-sided  Whole  which 
we  call  Nature.  Nature  proceeds,  in  her  turn,  from  the 
simple  to  the  complex,  from  the  homogeneous  to  the 
heterogeneous.  Beginning  with,  as  Science  supposes, 
an  indivisible  unit  of  absolute  simplicity ;  producing, 
as  the  ultimate  cognizable  reduction  of  animated  mat- 
ter, the  structureless  plasson-body  ;  evolving  from  that 
every  form  of  organic  life,  ■ —  she  crowns  her  steadily 
increasing  complexity  of  organization,  function,  and  fac- 
ulties with  Man,  the  highest  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  elaborate  of  living  beings.  In  saying  that  he 
is  ' i  related  to  faculties,"  Balzac  referred  to  the  ever- 
growing 'necessity  which  controls  the  laboratory  work 
of  Nature,  and  compels  her  to  devise  more  and  bet- 
ter mechanism  for  the  manifestation  of  Spirit  as  she 
climbs  the  evolutionary  stairway.  With  each  intellec- 
tual advance  the  cerebral  convolutions  must  become 
more  numerous,  the  afferent  and  efferent  nerves  be 
attuned  to  a  greater  delicacy  of  sensation,  a  greater 
rapidity  of  transmission.  With  the  pressure  of  expand- 
ing spiritual  needs  there  must  develop  corresponding 
physical  instrumentalities.  Even  with  the  very  high- 
est attainable  development  on  the  human  plane,  such 
as  culminates  in  a  Shakspeare,  the  direction  of  evolu- 
tion is  of  necessity  related  to  faculties,  not  to  essence ; 
for  even  here  we  have  onlj-  the  best  attainable  adapta- 
tion of  the  material  to  the  spiritual ;  and  all  that  Na- 
ture can  accomplish  under  these  conditions  is,  by  the 
laws  of  organic  life,  nothing  but  a  compromise,  the 


cxviii 


Introduction. 


attainment  of  temporary  equilibrium  between  essen- 
tially antagonistic  extremes.  In  this  sphere  of  exist- 
ence the  principle  of  such  partial  and  imperfect  success 
as  is  alone  attainable  is  formulated  by  modern  science 
as  adaptation  to  the  environment.  This  involves  the 
strengthening  of  the  relation  to  faculties,  since  these 
are  the  means  whereb}7  adaptation  is  produced.  The  life 
of  man,  and  indeed  of  all  animals,  is  a  continual  struggle, 
and  for  the  most  part  a  struggle  with  needs  and  appetites 
belonging  altogether  to  the  material  and  physical  plane. 
If,  for  instance,  it  were  possible  for  mankind  to  live 
without  eating  and  drinking,  —  if,  that  is  to  sa}r,  the 
normal  waste  of  tissue  could  be  stopped,  the  fires  of 
life  be  kept  burning  without  the  consumption  of  fuel,  — 
it  cannot  be  doubted  that  all  the  aims  and  motives 
of  the  race  would  undergo  the  most  radical  and  mo- 
mentous change.  At  one  stroke  the  fellest  obstacle  to 
the  higher  life  would  be  cleared  away,  and  the  hori- 
zon of  the  world  would  be  enlarged  almost  indefinite^. 
But  as  things  are,  no  step  upward  can  be  taken  with- 
out suffering,  without  direct  or  indirect  concession  and 
tribute  to  the  lower  but  implacable  needs  of  mere  or- 
ganic life.    The  fate  of  man  is  like  that  of  the 

"  horse  with  wings,  that  would  have  flown, 
But  that  his  heavy  rider  kept  him  down," 

in  the  "Vision  of  Sin;"  and  however  he  may  aspire, 
this  destiny  he  must  as  a  rule  undergo.  He  is  "re- 
lated to  faculties/'  because  it  is  the  order  of  his  present 
mode  of  existence.    The  experience  and  the  suffering 


Introduction. 


cxix 


which  belong  to  incarnation  are  necessary  to  his  per- 
fection, and  they  must  therefore  be  endured ;  but  such 
is  not  the  scheme  of  the  superior,  enfranchised,  angelic 
life. 

Some  may  consider  the  introduction  of  angels  to  a 
philosophical  speculation  inconsistent  ;  for  does  not 
consideration  of  such  hypothetical  beings  appertain  to 
Theology  and  Poetry  alone  ?  Balzac  would  undoubt- 
edly have  returned  an  emphatic  negative  to  such  a 
question,  and  would  have  denied  the  force  of  the  objec- 
tion ;  and  indeed  thinkers  whose  claim  to  the  title  of 
Philosopher  can  never  be  disputed  have  established 
precedents  in  this  connection  which  completely  justify 
Balzac.  Thus  Locke  observes:  "  That  there  should 
be  more  species  of  intelligent  creatures  above  us  than 
there  are  of  sensible  and  material  below  us,  is  prob- 
able to  me  from  hence,  that  in  all  the  visible  corporeal 
world  we  see  no  chasms  or  gaps.  .  .  ■  And  when  we 
consider  the  infinite  power  and  wisdom  of  the  Maker, 
we  have  reason  to  think  that  it  is  suitable  to  the  mag- 
nificent harmony  of  the  universe  and  the  great  design 
and  infinite  goodness  of  the  Architect  that  the  species 
of  creatures  should  also,  by  gentle  degrees,  ascend  up- 
wards from  us  toward  his  infinite  perfection,  as  we  see 
they  gradually  descend  from  us  downwards  ;  which  if  it 
be  probable,  we  have  reason  then  to  be  persuaded  that 
there  are  far  more  species  of  creatures  above  us  than 
there  are  beneath ;  we  being,  in  degrees  of  perfection, 
much  more  remote  from  the  infinite  being  of  God  than 
we  are  from  the  lowest  state  of  being,  and  that  which 


cxx 


Introduction. 


approaches  next  to  nothing."  This  too  is  the  thought 
expressed  by  Tennyson  in  "  The  Two  Voices,"  — 

u  This  truth  within  thy  mind  rehearse, 
That  in  a  boundless  universe 
Is  boundless  better,  boundless  worse. 

"  Think  you  this  mould  of  hopes  and  fears 
Could  find  no  statelier  than  his  peers 
In  yonder  hundred  million  spheres  ?  " 

The  late  Lord  Lytton  pursued  the  same  line  of  thought 
in  the  following  passage:  "  In  the  small  as  in  the 
vast,  God  is  equally  profuse  of  life.  The  traveller 
looks  upon  the  tree,  and  fancies  its  boughs  were  formed 
for  his  shelter  in  the  summer  sun  or  his  fuel  in  the 
winter  frosts.  But  in  each  leaf  of  these  boughs  the 
Creator  has  made  a  world  ;  it  swarms  with  innumera- 
ble races.  Each  drop  of  water  in  yon  moat  is  an  orb 
more  populous  than  is  a  kingdom  of  men.  Everywhere 
in  this  immense  design  Science  brings  new  life  to 
light.  Life  is  the  one  pervading  principle ;  and  even 
the  thing  that  seems  to  die  and  putrefy  but  engenders 
new  life,  and  changes  to  fresh  forms  of  matter.  Rea- 
soning then  by  evident  analogy,  —  if  not  a  leaf,  if  not 
a  drop  of  wTater,  but  is,  no  less  than  yonder  star,  a 
habitable  and  breathing  world,  —  nay,  if  even  man 
himself  is  a  world  to  other  lives,  and  millions  and  myri- 
ads dwell  in  the  rivers  of  his  blood,  and  inhabit  man's 
frame  as  man  inhabits  earth,  common  sense  (if  your 
schoolmen  had  it)  would  suffice  to  teach  that  the  cir- 


Introduction, 


cxxi 


cumfluent  infinite  which  you  call  space  —  the  boundless 
Impalpable  which  divides  earth  from  the  moon  and 
stars  —  is  filled  also  with  its  correspondent  and  appro- 
priate life." 

In  the  dogmatic  terminology  of  evolutionary  philoso- 
phy, the  word  "Anthropomorphism"  has  now  for  sev- 
eral years  done  duty  as  a  club  wherewith  to  beat  down 
all  manifestations  of  sympathy  with  true  psychology. 
Many  well-meaning  but  feeble  spirits  have  been  so 
coerced  and  overawed  by  the  insolent  arrogance  of  the 
champions  of  the  mechanical  theory  of  life,  that  they 
have  not  ventured  to  dispute  the  authority  of  dicta  in 
all  respects  as  imaginative  as,  and  infinitely  narrower 
and  less  noble  than,  the  alleged  "myths"  against 
which  they  are  directed.  There  is  indeed  no  attitude 
which  in  the  man  of  science  ought  to  be  more  marked 
than  Humility ;  for  the  history  of  human  progress  is 
staked  out  with  the  gravestones  of  exploded  scientific 
fallacies,  delusions,  and  follies.  Notwithstanding  these 
constant  warnings  and  cautionary  signals,  the  tempta- 
tion to  ' 6  cross  the  boundary  of  experimental  evidence  " 
and  indulge  in  dogmatisms  all  the  more  positive  be- 
cause of  their  unstable  foundation,  appears  too  strong 
for  a  large  proportion  of  the  modern  scientific  leaders. 
What  these  men  propound,  no  matter  how  derived  or 
supported-,  is  unfortunately  accepted  as  infallible  b}r 
the  great  majority  of  their  followers,  —  and  by  the 
term  "followers"  is  meant  not  onljT  other  men  of  sci- 
ence, but  the  crowd  who  take  their  opinions  and  beliefs 
habitually  at  second-hand,  and  to-day  yield  to  the 


cxxii 


Introduction. 


pretensions  of  science  and  pseudo-science  alike  an 
obedience  and  a  confidence  formerly  conceded  only  to 
the  dogmatism  of  theology.  Because  of  the  material- 
istic influence  thus  disseminated,  it  becomes  necessary, 
in  dealing  with  any  question  which  the  canons  of 
scientific  orthodoxy  declare  beyond  the  limits  of  ra- 
tional research,  to  adjure  all  readers  to  "clear  their 
minds  of  cant,"  and  prepare  themselves  for  the  candid 
consideration  of  whatever  is  set  before  them  by  reflect- 
ing that  only  fools  will  undertake  to  set  bounds  to  the 
possibilities  of  existence  and  the  variety  of  phenomena 
in  the  universe. 

"The  Angel,"  says  Balzac,  "  is  related  to  essence." 
That  this  should  be  so  is,  ex  hypothesis  necessary  and 
inevitable.  The  angel,  being  pure  spirit,  or  relatively 
pure  spirit,  must  approach  essence  in  its  constitution. 
The  course  of  Man  is  from  indefinite  homogeneity  to 
definite  heterogeneity.  But  this  constant  increase  in 
complexity  is  due  entirely  to  the  necessity  of  refining 
and  perfecting  the  material  mechanism  through  which 
Spirit  manifests.  Remove  the  material  medium  whose 
intractability  and  grossness  necessitate  so  ingenious 
and  varied  a  series  of  adaptations,  and  the  need  for  all 
this  planning  and  contriving  at  once  ceases.  The 
spiritual,  the  angelic  composition,  being  free  from  the 
impediments  of  Matter,  is  simple  ;  and  its  relations  and 
tendencies  are  towards  homogeneity,  and  away  from 
heterogeneity.  Moreover,  supposing  that  there  are, 
as  analogy  suggests,  many  degrees  of  spiritual  per- 
fection, it  follows  that  the  movement  of  all  these  beings 


Introduction. 


cxxiii 


must  be  in  the  direction  of  Unity.  The  line  of  their 
progress  is  necessarily  at  variance  with  that  of  Human- 
ity. The  descent  of  Spirit  into  Matter  —  according  to 
the  Mystics,  the  true  signification  of  the  event  exoteri- 
cally  figured  as  the  Fall  of  the  Angels  —  resulted  in  a 
struggle  which  has  at  one  and  the  same  time  deter- 
mined the  direction  of  material  evolution,  and  fixed 
the  nature  of  the  methods  by  which  ultimately  the  en- 
franchisement of  Spirit  is  to  be  attained.  But  whereas 
in  the  case  of  angelic  development,  the  refinement  of  a 
comparatively  simple  and  homogeneous  essence  is  re- 
quired, in  the  case  of  incarnated  spirit  the  vehicle  itself 
must  be  improved,  purified,  and  perfected,  to  the  end 
that  the  operative  soul  may  not  be  hopelessly  weighed 
down  and  impeded  by  it,  in  the  fulfilment  of  that  soul's 
destiny.  It  follows,  from  this  line  of  reasoning,  that 
the  human  soul,  when  liberated  from  its  material  en- 
velope, must  take  up  the  evolutionary  methods  which, 
prior  to  the  change  called  Death,  were  impossible  to  it. 
It  does  not,  however,  follow  that  such  a  change  of 
method  is  immediate.  JSfatura  non  facit  saltum  is  no 
doubt  the  rule  here,  as  in  the  visible  universe.  The 
Oriental  wisdom-religion  teaches  that  the  process  of  re- 
storing the  once  incarnated  spirit  to  its  high  Source 
is  a  very  gradual  one,  involving  many  reincarnations, 
during  which  the  discipline  and  preparation  of  the  soul 
consist  in  the  difficult  and  painful  work  of  subduing 
the  strong  material  desires  and  impulses,  and  bringing 
the  inner  man  into  harmony  with  the  Divine.  In  this 
process  the  already  liberated  angels  may  be  engaged  as 


cxxiv 


Introduction. 


assistants  to  all  who,  like  Faust,  greatly  struggle  and 
unwearieclly  aspire. 

"  Wer  immer  strebend  sich  bemiiht, 
Den  konnen  wir  erlosen." 

The  ninth  axiom  indeed  brings  us  to  cognate  con- 
siderations :  "By  uniting  his  body  to  the  elementary 
movement,  Man  may  succeed  in  joining  himself  to  the 
light  interiorly  (or  by  his  Interior)."  The  superficial 
obscurity  of  the  language  here  veils  a  doctrine  which 
is  fundamental  in  all  religions,  and  vital  to  occult  and 
mystical  systems.  The  union  of  the  body  with  the 
elementary  movement  signifies  the  preparation  and  pu- 
rification of  the  physical  organism  by  bringing  it  into 
harmony  with  that  natural  force  which  is  commonly 
termed  the  vital  principle.  The  method  indicated  in- 
volves a  reversal  of  the  normal  material  evolutionary 
process,  and  a  substitution  of  the  simple  for  the  com- 
plex. It  is  by  eliminating  the  tributes  paid  by  ad- 
vanced humanity  to  cultivated  appetites  that  the  body 
is  by  degrees  attuned  to  the  highest  sympathies  of  phe- 
nomenal Nature,  and  thus  becomes  fitted  to  be  the 
medium  and  vehicle  of  psychical  efforts  aimed  at  the 
attainment  of  spiritual  and  divine  illumination.  The 
preparation  of  the  body  by  discipline  of  this  kind  can, 
however,  effect  no  more  than  to  facilitate  the  subse- 
quent ps}'chical  operations,  which  must  be  carried  on, 
as  Balzac  saj's,  b}^  the  Interior,  — that  is  to  say,  by  In- 
tuition. Now,  modern  mechanical  science  has  labored 
so  strenuously  to  discredit  this  faculty  in  the  interest  of 
purely  materialistic  philosophy,  that  it  is  in  a  manner 


Introduction. 


cxxv 


necessary  to  call  in  the  testimony  of  some  established 
authority  on  its  behalf.  The  place  of  Intuition  is  thus 
defined  by  Locke  :  Ci  Our  highest  degree  of  Knowledge 
is  intuitive,  without  Reasoning ;  "  and  this  intuitive 
knowledge,  he  sa}^s,  "  is  certain,  beyond  all  doubt,  and 
needs  no  probation,  nor  can  have  any,  this  being  the 
highest  of  all  human  certainty."  And  he  says  again : 
u  In  the  discovery  of  and  assent  to  these  truths,  there  is 
no  use  of  the  discursive  faculty,  no  need  of  reasoning ; 
but  they  are  known  by  a  superior  and  higher  degree  of 
evidence.  And  such,  if  I  may  guess  at  things  unknown, 
I  am  apt  to  think  that  angels  have  now,  and  the  spirits 
of  just  men  made  perfect  shall  have  in  a  future  state,  of 
thousands  of  things  .which  now  either  wholly  escape  our 
apprehensions,  or  which,  our  short-sighted  reason  hav- 
ing got  some  faint  glimpse  of,  we  in  the  dark  grope 
after."  Elsewhere  the  same  author  says  of  Intuition  : 
"  This  kind  of  knowledge  is  the  clearest  and  most 
certain  that  human  frailty  is  capable  of.  This  part  of 
knowledge  is  irresistible,  and,  like  bright  sunshine, 
forces  itself  immediately  to  be  perceived,  as  soon  as 
ever  the  mind  turns  its  view  that  way,  and  leaves  no 
room  for  hesitation,  doubt,  or  examination,  but  the 
mind  is  presently  filled  with  the  clear  light  of  it.  It 
is  on  this  intuition  that  depend  all  the  certainty  and 
evidence  of  all  our  knowledge."  Intuition,  then,  ac- 
cording to  Locke,  comes  first,  and  Reason  second, 
—  a  classification  so  repugnant  to  modern  Materialism 
that  it  would,  were  it  possible,  repudiate  Locke  alto- 
gether, rather  than  accept  a  conclusion  which  in  its 


cxxvi 


Introduction. 


final  analysis  involves  the  subordination  of  Matter  to 
Spirit. 

^  And  now  let  us  hear  a  modern  Mystic  on  the  defini- 
tion of  the  faculty  which  has  been  and  continues  to  be 
the  subject  of  fierce  contention  among  rival  schools  of 
thought.    We  quote  from  "The  Perfect  Way:"  "It 
is  that  mode  of  the  mind  whereby,  after  exercising  itself 
in  an  outward  direction  as  Intellect,  in  order  to  obtain 
cognition  of  phenomena,  it  returns  towards  its  centre 
as  Intuition,  and  by  ascertaining  the  essential  idea  of 
the  fact  apprehended  by  the  senses,  completes  the  pro- 
cess of  its  thought.    And  just  as  only  by  the  combined 
and  equal  operation  of  the  modes  termed  centrifugal 
and  centripetal,  of  force,  the  solar  system  is  sustained; 
so  only  by  the  equilibrium  of  the  modes,  intellectual 
and  intuitional,  of  the  mind,  can  man  complete  the  sys- 
tem of  his  thought  and  attain  to  certitude  of  truth. 
And  as  well  might  we  attempt  to  construct  the  solar 
system  by  means  of  an  exercise  of  force  in  one  direc- 
tion, the  human  system  by  means  of  one  sex,  or  the 
nervous  system  by  means  of  the  motor  roots  only,  as 
to  attain  to  knowledge  by  means  of  one  mode  only  of 
mind.    It  is,  however,  precisely  in  this  manner  that 
the  materialistic  hypothesis  errs ;  and  by  its  error  it 
has  forfeited  all  claim  to  be  accounted  a  system."  In- 
tuition, in  fact,  is  the  key  whereby  the  interior  region 
of  the  mind,  the  permanent,  enduring  part  of  human 
nature,  is  unlocked ;  it  is  the  instrument  by  which  the 
deep,  the  central  truths  of  existence,  known  in  perpe- 
tuity to  the  Soul  herself,  are  attained  to  by  the  intelli- 


Introduction. 


cxxvii 


gence.  For  according  to  the  Mystics,  whose  teaching 
Balzac  follows  here,  the  Soul,  appointed  to  pass  through 
a  long  series  of  incarnations,  gathers  together  and  pre- 
serves her  experiences  in  Matter,  and  can  and  will 
communicate  them  when  the  conditions  are  favorable  ; 
that  is  to  say,  when  through  the  purifying  discipline 
of  the  body  the  Intellect  is  so  clarified  and  refined  as 
to  be  capable  of  communion  with  and  apprehension  of 
the  central  Psyche.  It  is  thus  that  man  may  succeed 
in  joining  himself  to  the  Light  by  his  Interior.  The 
Light  is  the  illumination  of  the  inner  sanctuary,  —  that 
sanctuary  to  which  reference  was  made  in  the  words, 
46  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  within  tyou." 

It  is  thus,  too,  that  the  .final  redemption  —  the  escape 
of  Spirit  from  Matter  —  is  to  be  brought  about.  The 
pursuit  of  a  materialistic  philosophy  and  science,  by 
stifling  all  elevating  psychical  effort,  retards  the  only 
form  of  progress  which  is  worth  achieving.  For  it 
compels  a  one-sided  development,  and  what  is  worse, 
a  development  of  that  side  of  human  nature  which  is 
least  deserving  of  culture.  "  What  will  it  profit  a  man 
if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul?"  is 
the  problem  now  forced  upon  the  race  by  the  character 
and  tendencies  of  the  dominant  civilization.  The  pres- 
ent exaltation  of  Eeason  at  the  expense  of  Intuition  is 
directly  in  the  line  of  soul  perdition,  or  soul  paralysis ; 
for  though  the  immortality  of  the  soul  may  be  predi- 
cated, its  connection  with  Matter  may  be  indefinitely 
prolonged,  its  return  to  its  ineffable  Source  be  as  in- 
definitely delayed,  by  such  a  materialization  of  its 


cxxviii 


Introduction. 


mundane  medium  as  will  render  effective  psychical 
manifestation  and  guidance  impracticable,  thus  deliv- 
ering over  the  Man  himself  to  the  blind  leadership  of 
the  Senses  and  the  Intellect  alone.  Such  a  postpone- 
ment of  the  soul's  enfranchisement  cannot  be  submitted 
to.  All  the  higher  forces  of  the  universe  are  banded 
against  the  materialist  conspiracy ;  and  the  strong  re- 
action against  that  futile  and  degrading  doctrine  even 
now  manifesting  itself  wherever  the  English  language 
is  spoken,  and  not  only  in  those  countries,  but  among 
the  Celts,  Iberians,  and  Slavs,  indicates  the  beginning 
of  an  era  during  which  the  leading  races  will  revolt 
from  the  nullifications  of  the  hour,  and  once  more  in- 
terest themselves  seriously  in  an  enlightened,  elevating, 
and  comprehensive  psychology. 

The  future  science  of  Soul  must  accord  recognition 
to  the  Intuitional  without  discarding  the  Rational.  In 
the  past  progress  has  been  hindered  by  efforts  to  en- 
throne one  of  these  faculties  at  the  expense  of  the 
other.  No  error  could  have  been  more  mischievous. 
It  has  kept  mankind  oscillating  between  the  poles  of 
Credulity  and  Scepticism.  It  has  arraj^ed  the  strong- 
est intelligences  in  opposed  phalanxes,  and  so  preju- 
diced either  faction  as  to  render  all  compromise  but 
that  of  coercion  or  hypocrisy  impracticable.  There 
was  always  a  safe  middle  ground,  but  antagonisms 
were  always  too  fierce  to  permit  of  its  being  taken. 
Nor  was  the  situation  improved  by  the  introduction  of 
dogma  on  both  sides,  —  that  of  theology  on  the  side 
of  Intuition,  and  that  of  physical  science  on  the  side 


Introduction. 


cxxix 


of  Reason.  All  the  smoke  and  dust  of  age-long  intel- 
lectual conflict  has  been  bequeathed  with  other  attri- 
butes, prejudices,  and  proclivities,  from  generation  to 
generation.  We  approach  the  arena  heavily  weighted 
in  advance.  Heredity  has  handicapped  us,  and  we 
need  all  the  help  we  can  obtain,  all  the  encouragement 
to  be  derived  from  conviction  of  the  want  of  enlight- 
enment, to  render  us  fit  for  the  task  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  which  we  are  called.  Among  the  first 
necessities  of  the  new  era  will  be  the  restoration  of 
the  faculty  of  Intuition  to  its  normal  and  legitimate 
rank  and  position  ;  and  following  naturally  upon  this 
restoration  will  come  recognition  of  the  truth  that  the 
one  and  only  way  by  which  to  effect  union  with  the 
higher  Light,  to  put  the  race  in  the  path  which  leads 
to  final  emancipation  and  regeneration,  is  through  the 
cultivation  of  that  interior  psychical  aptitude  which  has 
been  permitted  almost  to  die  out  in  most  of  us. 

The  tenth  axiom  is  as  follows:  "Number  is  an  in- 
tellectual witness  which  belongs  only  to  Man,  and  by 
which  he  may  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  the  Word." 
Before  proceeding  to  consider  this  it  seems  necessary  to 
point  out  that  in  the  wisdom-religion  Number  has  two 
distinct  significations,  and  that  the  deeper  of  these  can- 
not be  communicated,  nor  indeed  understood  save  b}~ 
those  whose  studies  have  prepared  them  for  the  assimi- 
lation of  an  occult  symbolog}r  which  in  the  very  nature 
of  things  must  be  "  caviare  to  the  general."  Nor  is 
there  any  charlatanic  affectation  of  mystery  in  this.  No 
man  supposes  himself  capable  of  reading  Sanscrit  with- 

9 


cxxx 


Introduction. 


out  preliminary  study  in  the  language.  No  man  thinks 
it  reasonable  that  he  should  be  able  to  read  music  at 
sight,  never  having  learned  its  notation.  To  the  unin- 
structed  the  apparatus  of  a  chemical  laboratory  or  an 
astronomical  observatory  conveys  no  information,  and 
is  incomprehensible.  In  precisely  the  same  way  it  is 
necessary  that  the  occult  theory  of  Numbers  should  have 
been  studied  before  the  meaning  of  references  to  that 
theory  can  be  grasped.  In  a  popular  exposition  of  Bal- 
zac's profound  system  of  philosophy  it  is  manifestly 
impracticable  to  attempt  more  than  such  an  exoteric 
outline  of  the  subtler  expressions  as  may  serve  to  show 
the  possibility  and  the  tendency  of  the  more  recondite 
allusions.  Even  so  the  necessity  of  employing  terms 
which  often  bear  quite  different  significations  according 
as  they  are  used  exoterically  or  esoterically  renders  it 
impossible  to  guard  against  the  liability  to  misconcep- 
tion. The  external  interpretation  of  Balzac's  state- 
ment here  is  by  no  means  easy,  moreover,  since  even 
that  presupposes  a  familiarity  with  certain  little-under- 
stood matters.  ■  The  knowledge  of  the  Word,  which  is 
to  be  arrived  at  with  the  aid  of  Number,  is  knowledge  of 
the  phenomena  and  laws  of  Nature,  for  one  thing.  The 
Word  referred  to  is  the  Logos  manifested  in  the  material 
universe.  The  Logos  in  itself— the  Ain-Soph  of  the 
Kabbalists  —  is  beyond  the  comprehension  of  minds 
limited  by  Matter.  It  can  only  be  known  at  all  through 
its  manifestation.  Number,  the  intellectual  witness 
which  belongs  only  to  Man,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  instru- 
ment by  which  he  is  enabled  to  follow  and  apprehend  the 


Introduction, 


cxxxi 


organization  and  differentiation  of  Matter  by  Motion,  — 
brings  him  into  relations  with  the  material  universe 
which  illuminate  the  structure  and  conditions  of  the 
latter.    In  the  lower  and  more  restricted  signification 
of  Number  this  is  shown  to  be  true  by  the  character  of 
the  instrumentalities  to  which  Science  is  indebted  for 
its  greatest  advances.    The  physicist,  the  chemist,  the 
mathematician,  the  astronomer,  the  biologist,  the  bota- 
nist, are  all  and  equally  dependent  upon  Number  for 
progress  in  discovery  and  the  classification  of  phenom- 
ena.   This  is  not  all  that  Balzac  signifies  in  the  tenth 
axiom,  but  it  is  all  that  can  be  made  intelligible  to  the 
average  reader,  and  probably  all  that  the  average  reader 
cares  to  know.    Number,  then,  is  the  key  to  the  mys- 
teries of  the  visible  (and  indeed  also  to  the  unseen) 
universe.    It  is  the  exponent  of  Nature's  laws  ;  and 
whether  it  shall  unfold  those  laws  completely  depends 
upon  the  ability  of  those  who  employ  it  to  see  not  alone 
its  Material  but  its  Spiritual  aspects  and  attributes. 
Recognizing  only  the  former,  they  may  attain  to  the 
highest  plane  upon  which  purely  materialistic  science 
can  live ;  and  they  will  undoubtedly  believe,  having 
reached  that  height,  that  there  are  no  more  practicable 
elevations  to  conquer.    At  such  a  stage  the  temptation 
is  to  postulate  the  futility  of  further  exploration,  to 
label  the  horizon  "  Unknowable,"  and  to  "  rest  and  be 
thankful."     A  saner,  better-balanced  ambition  recog- 
nizes no  impassable  limits,  but  when  the  boundaries  of 
the  Material  are  approached  prepares  to  call  in  aid 
those  higher  and  more  refined  Spiritual  capacities  to 


cxxxii 


Introduction. 


which  there  are  no  limitations  short  of  union  with  the 
Infinite. 

"There  is  a  Number  which  Impurity  cannot  tran- 
scend, the  Number  wherein  creation  is  finished."  So 
reads  the  eleventh  axiom  ;  and  again  it  has  to  be  said 
that  the  most  weighty  significance  of  this  sentence  is 
esoteric.  The  Impure,  or  Impurity,  refers  to  that  com- 
plete immersion  in  Matter  which  has  the  effect  of  para- 
lyzing or  even  stifling  the  spiritual  elements.  To  all 
who  have  sunk  so  far,  comprehension  of  the  occult  side 
of  existence  is  debarred.  They  occupy  a  position 
towards  the  higher  life  analogous  to  that  which  a  man 
born  blind  and  deaf  occupies  toward  light  and  sound. 
They  are  as  incapable  of  rising  out  of  Matter  as  a  per- 
son congenitally  wanting  in  a  limb  or  organ  would  be 
of  performing  the  functions  of  the  missing  parts.  But 
there  is  another,  —  a  dual  interpretation  to  this  axiom. 
The  Number  which  symbolizes  the  end  of  creation  is 
also  the  Number  which  marks  the  return  of  all  created 
things  to  the  bosom  of  Infinity.  The  allusion  is  to  the 
Hindu  cosmology,  according  to  which  at  stated  intervals 
(mctfivantaras)  all  that  exists  materia^  is  resolved  into 
its  constituent  essence,  in  much  the  same  way  as  if,  re- 
versing the  processes  of  the  nebular  hypothesis,  this 
universe  should  be  resolved  into  the  "naked  essence 
floating  free  "  out  of  which  it  is  assumed  to  have  been 
gradually  evolved.  Not  that  there  is  any  chasm  be- 
tween ancient  and  modern  science  in  regard  to  this 
problem.  The  West  joins  the  East  in  the  belief  that 
a  time  must  come,  however  remote,  for  the  dissolution 


Introduction. 


cxxxiii 


of  our  universe ;  and  the  destiny  before  it  is,  in  the 
opinion  of  modern  science,  to  all  practical  intents  iden- 
tical with  that  postulated  by  the  Hindu  cosmogonists 
many  thousands  of  years  ago. 

As  a  rather  curious  and  interesting  illustration  of  this 
similarity  in  conclusions  reached,  it  need  hardly  be  said, 
by  radically  different  paths,  a  citation  from  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer  may  be  worth  giving:  " Motion  as  well  as 
Matter  being  fixed  in  quantity,  it  would  seem  that  the 
change  in  the  distribution  of  Matter  which  Motion 
effects,  coming  to  a  limit  in  whichever  direction  it  is 
carried,  the  indestructible  Motion  thereupon  necessi- 
tates a  reverse  distribution.  Apparently  the  universally 
coexistent  forces  of  attraction  and  repulsion  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  necessitate  rhythm  in  all  minor  changes 
throughout  the  universe,  also  necessitate  rhythm  in  the 
totality  of  its  changes,  —  produce  now  an  immeasurable 
period  during  which  the  attracting  forces  predominating 
cause  universal  concentration,  and  then  an  immeasur- 
able period  during  which  the  repulsive  forces  predomi- 
nating cause  universal  diffusion,  —  alternate  eras  of 
Evolution  and  Dissolution."  That  is  in  the  main  sound 
Hindu  cosmology,  whether  or  not  Mr.  Spencer  studied 
Hindu  philosophers  before  writing  it ;  and  few  will  in- 
cline to  the  opinion  that  the  likeness  in  speculation  is 
other  than  unconscious.  Pralaya  and  Manvantara, 
however,  —  Dissolution  and  Evolution,  —  come  to  very 
much  the  same  thing  in  the  end  ;  and  while  it  is  perfectly 
evident  that  Number  must  have  as  much  to  do  with  the 
finish  as  with  the  beginning  of  creation,  it  is  equally 


cxxxiv 


Introduction. 


clear  that  in  the  former  case  conditions  and  periods  are 
involved  which  can  only  be  comprehended  and  per- 
ceived by  a  highly  developed  Spiritual  sense.  The 
Physics  no  less  than  the  Metaphysics  of  the  universe 
are  beyond  the  reach  of  the  Impure  ;  of  those,  that  is  to 
say,  who  have  lost  the  instinct  of  sympathy  with  the 
Real,  and  who  squander  their  often  splendid  intellectual 
energies  in  closing  against  themselves  more  and  more 
tightly  the  rifts  through  which,  but  for  their  suicidal 
perversity,  enough  light  would  filter  to  guide  their  err- 
ing feet  back  to  firm  ground. 

"Unity,"  says  Balzac,  in  the  twelfth  axiom,  "  has 
been  the  point  of  departure  for  everything  which  was 
produced  ;  thence  have  resulted  composites,  but  the  end 
must  be  identical  with  the  beginning.    Hence  the  spir- 
itual formula :  Composite  Unity,  variable  Unity,  fixed 
Unity."   This  formula  applies  to  the  entire  created  Uni- 
verse, and  to  the  whole  body  of  phenomena,  spiritual 
and  material  alike.    No  matter  what  theory  of  secon- 
dary causes  be  entertained,  it  will,  if  not  nakedly  atheis- 
tic, harmonize  with  this  succinct  proposition.   The  most 
ancient  no  less  than  the  most  modern  philosophy,  more- 
over, points  to  the  conclusion  that  the  line  of  progress 
in  Nature  is  that  of  a  closed  curve,  which,  proceeding 
from  the  Absolute  or  Supreme  Cause,  returns  ultimately 
to  its  origin.    The  Supreme  Cause*  may  doubtless  man- 
ifest in  conceivable  and  inconceivable  ways  ;  but  the 
human  mind  is  so  constituted  as  to  be  incapable,  in 
its  normal  state,  of  apprehending  other  than  material 
manifestations.    The  limits  of  the  human  mind  are  of 


Introduction. 


cxxxv 


course  not  necessarily  those  of  incarnated  spirit ;  for, 
given  other  material  conditions,  —  other  collocations  of 
atoms,  other  planetary  states,  —  and  it  is  quite  possi- 
ble to  conceive  of  thinking  beings  widely  differing  in 
form  from  the  human  race,  and  gifted  with  far  other 
faculties  and  functions.  All  we  can  say  is  that  the  tel- 
luric conditions  have  been  such  as  to  make  us  what  we 
are ;  for  we  know  that  the  law  of  existence  is  adapta- 
tion to  the  environment.  The  compounds  into  which 
the  primordial  substance  have  been  separated  do  not, 
however,  speak  to  us  of  a  blind  necessity.  If  forms 
of  life  are  largely  dependent  upon  cosmical  states  and 
phases  of  planetary  development,  the  fact  does  not 
argue  a  failure  of  omnipotence  or  omniscience.  It 
merely  suggests  views  of  the  scheme  of  Divine  mani- 
festation so  overpowering  in  their  range  and  impli- 
cations as  to  emphasize  the  narrow  limitations  of  finite 
intelligence. 

In  the  study  of  the  Microcosm,  however,  we  may 
gather  analogies  which  will  help  us  to  a  clearer  com- 
prehension of  the  Macrocosm.  The  relations  of  the 
soul  to  the  body  resemble  in  many  respects  those  of 
the  Deity  to  the  Universe.  The  body  is  necessary  to 
the  manifestation  of  spirit  on  the  physical  plane.  But 
what  is  the  body?  Assuredly,  it  is  not  the  homo- 
geneous structure  it  is  commonly  taken  to  be.  It  is 
a  concourse  of  organized  atoms  in  strongly  differen-  * 
tiated  groups,  combined  but  ephemerally,  in  a  contin- 
ual state  of  flux,  undergoing  substitution  and  renewal 
so  lono-  as  life  continues.    As  Lotze  puts  it:  "  The 


cxxxvi 


Introduction. 


governing  soul,  placed  at  a  favored  point  of  the  organ- 
ism, collects  the  numberless  impressions  conveyed  to 
it  by  a  host  of  comrades."   It  directs  their  more  im- 
portant movements,  through  the  nervous  system.  The 
automatic  functions  are  performed  unconsciously,  as  if 
the  duty  of  discharging  those  functions  were  impressed 
upon  the  molecules  with  the  act  of  organization  which 
determines  their  activities.   So,  too,  Nature  has  her  au- 
tomatic functionings,  —  "  blind  forces  "  they  are  some- 
times called,  —  which,  however,  operate  with  the  pre- 
cision and  effectiveness  of  ordered  mechanism,  and  are 
only  vague  and  irregular  in  our  eyes  because  our  field 
of  vision  is  so  narrow  and  our  mental  capacity  so  small. 
Composite  Unity  is  clearly  the  first  step  in  its  mani- 
festation, the  first  consequence  of  the  descent  of  Spirit 
into  Matter ;  variable  Unity  is  the  necessary  sequence 
of  Composition.    For  Nature  is  never  at  rest.  Organic 
life  is  a  process  of  combustion  resulting  in  the  con- 
stant transformation  of  Matter  into  Energy,  and  the 
equally  constant  reactionary  change.    Hence  the  neces- 
sity for  ceaseless  adjustments,  which  are  always  effected, 
though  often  not  without  violent  local  perturbations. 
Life  is  Mutation,  in  one  sense ;  and  the  whole  creation 
is  incessantly  moving  toward  new  combinations  of  Mat- 
ter and  new  lines  of  Spiritual  experience  and  develop- 
ment. As  the  Earth  Spirit  chants  in  Goethe's  immortal 
poem :  — 

"  Jn  Lebensfluthen,  in  Thatensturm 
Wall'  ich  auf  und  ab, 
Webe  hin  und  her  ! 
Geburt  und  Grab, 


Introduction. 


cxxxvii 


Ein  ewiges  Meer, 

Ein  wechselnd  Weben, 

Ein  gliihend  Leben, 
So  scliafF  ich  am  sausenden  Webstuhl  der  Zeit, 
Und  wirke  der  Gottheit  lebendiges  Kleid." 

Yet  Nature  is  more  than  the  garment  of  Deity ;  it  is 
the  body  through  which  the  Supreme  manifests.  As  it 
flows  into  composition  and  variation,  proceeding  from 
the  simple  to  the  complex,  raising  and  refining  its  com- 
binations in  the  organic  kingdoms,  so  it  takes  on  a  gen- 
eral direction  which,  through  the  steady  operation  of 
cosmic  laws,  must  eventually  —  after  what  elevation  of 
the  higher  organisms  embraced  within  the  system  is 
beyond  the  conception  of  the  present  race  —  reach  a 
point  at  which  the  same  tendencies  and  laws  which 
have  completed  this  phase  of  Evolution  must  resolve 
the  universe  into  its  constituent  elements.  Mr.  Her- 
bert Spencer  was  cited  recently  in  support  of  a  view 
which  modern  science  may  be  said  to  have  generally 
adopted.  It  is  fitting  that  a  philosopher  who  does  not 
take  refuge  in  the  Unknowable  should  also  be  heard 
on  this  point.  Lotze,  it  will  be  observed,  goes  further 
than  Mr.  Spencer,  and  the  difference  is  significant  : 
"There  may,"  he  says,  "be  protracted  periods  during 
which  the' frame  of  the  universe,  unaltered  in  its  main 
outlines  and  in  the  nature  of  its  elements,  goes  through 
a  long  course  of  internal  movements,  by  which  it  grad- 
ually realizes  all  the  potentialities  of  manifold  develop- 
ment conceivable  within  the  limits  of  the  fundamental 
adjustment.    But  after  these  have  been  gone  through, 


cxxxviii 


Introduction. 


the  One,  which  did  not  in  a  thousand  moments  appear 
a  thousand  times,  but  brought  together  the  thousand 
forms  of  its  existence  into  the  unity  of  a  single  devel- 
opment, in  which  each  stage  is  a  condition  of  the  next, 
—  the  One,  we  repeat,  thus  quickened  and  in  the  full 
tide  of  advance,  will  not  go  back  to  its  former  begin- 
ning. This  age  of  the  world  will  be  brought  to  a  close, 
and  the  velocity  and  direction  of  the  formative  motion 
with  which  the  cause  of  the  universe  reaches  that  ter- 
mination will  compel  it  to  give  in  a  fresh  creation  a 
remodelled  form  to  the  immutable,  but  by  dint  of  con- 
stant development  deepened  and  ennobled,  meaning  of 
its  being.  A  new  adjustment  of  conditions  will  hold 
good  in  this  age.  Other  substances,  newly  distributed 
functions,  forces,  and  affinities,  another  kingdom  of 
generic  forms,  and  hitherto  unknown  types  of  life  un- 
der new  external  conditions  of  existence,  will  repeat 
the  imperishable  theme  as  in  a  characteristically  con- 
nected variation."  It  will  be  perceived  that  this  is  a 
far  broader  view  than  that  of  Mr.  Spencer,  and  it  may 
be  pointed  out  that  it  closely  resembles  the  Hindu  the- 
ory of  the  Days  and  Nights  of  Brahma.  That  which 
the  German  psychologist  prefigures  is  the  Night  of 
Brahma,  in  which,  one  phase  of  Evolution  having  been 
brought  to  a  close,  Pralaya,  or  Dissolution,  ensues,  and 
a  pause  in  phenomenal  existence  precedes  the  dawn  of 
a  new  creation  on  a  higher  plane  of  development. 

"The  universe"  —  so  runs  the  thirteenth  axiom  — 
44  is,  then,  variety  in  Unity.  Motion  is  the  means, 
Number  is  the  result.    The  end  is  the  return  of  all 


Introduction. 


cxxxix 


things  to  Unity,  which  is  God."  This  is  the  logical 
conclusion  of  the  whole  line  of  reasoning,  as  herein  set 
forth.  The  analogies  between  Balzac's  doctrine  and 
both  the  oldest  and  the  newest  cosmic  hypotheses  have 
been  exhibited  as  clearly  as  possible.  Many  illustra- 
tions might  have  been  added,  no  doubt,  but  only  at  the 
risk  of  wearying  the  reader,  who  will  probably  be  sat- 
isfied with  an  exposition  which  removes  the  most  per- 
plexing obscurities  from  the  text.  The  steady  and 
ordered  development  of  the  author's  philosophy  has,  it 
may  be  hoped,  been  sufficiently  kept  in  view.  The 
two  remaining  axioms  treat  of  Number  in  its  broader 
spiritual  relations  and  significations.  They  may  be 
taken  together:  ''Three  and  Seven  are  the  two  great 
spiritual  numbers.  Three  is  the  formula  of  the  cre- 
ated worlds.  It  is  the  spiritual  symbol  of  creation,  as 
it  is  the  material  symbol  of  circumference.  In  effect, 
God  has  proceeded  only  by  circular  [curved?]  lines. 
The  straight  line  is  an  attribute  of  Infinity ;  therefore 
man,  who  adumbrates  the  Infinite,  employs  it  in  his 
works.  Two  is  the  number  of  generation.  Three  is 
the  number  of  existence,  which  includes  generation  and 
its  product.  Add  the  Quaternary,  and  you  have  Seven, 
which  is  the  formula  of  Heaven.  God  is  above  all. 
He  is  Unity."  In  considering  Number  as  treated  in 
the  earlier  part  of  Louis  Lambert's  categories,  some- 
thing was  said  concerning  the  symbolic  use  of  figures  ; 
but  it  may  be  advisable  to  extend  the  explanations 
already  given  a  little  at  this  point.  It  cannot  have 
been  overlooked  that  the  number  Three  plays  an  im- 


cxl 


Introduction. 


portant  part  in  Balzac's  whole  system  of  thought.  He 
postulates  three  worlds,  three  great  divisions  of  hu- 
manity, three  grades  of  spiritual  development,  three 
cults,  three  principal  vehicles  or  agencies  of  the  Divine 
manifestation.    In  all  this  he  but  follows  the  teachings 
of  the  wisdom-religion  and  of  all  who  have,  whether 
intelligently  or  mistakenly,  sought  to  found  special 
schools  and  departments  of  knowledge  upon  its  mysti- 
cal scriptures  and  their  commentaries.    No  doubt  an 
exoteric  interpretation  of  what  are  called  the  Sacred 
Numbers  can  be  derived  from  the  phenomena  of  the 
visible  world.    But  if  we  go  back  to  the  earliest  ages 
of  which  any  authoritative  record  remains,  we  shall  still 
find  the  number  Three  invested  with  peculiar  symbolic 
significance.    Thus  the  Accadians  divided  the  universe 
into  three  zones,  presided  over  by  three  gods ;  and 
throughout  the  historical  period  the  same  number  has 
been  employed  in  the  highest  religious  symbology.  It 
is  unnecessary  to  refer  to  the  position  it  occupies  in 
Christianity,  but  it  was  no  less  indispensable  to  the 
faith  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  and  the  systems  of  the 
Greek  geometrical  philosophers.    According  to  Balzac 
it  is  the  spiritual  symbol  of  Creation,  which  is  the  joint 
product  of  Motion,  the  Logos,  and  Number,  speaking 
esoterically.    It  is  also  the  symbol  of  Existence  ;  for  it 
embraces  the  ideas  of  the  Supreme  Cause,  who  is  Life 
and  Substance,  or  duality  in  unity,  and  the  product  of 
these,  which  is  the  Word  or  Logos,  the  creative  prin- 
ciple.   Also  it  represents  the  complementary  masculine 
and  feminine  principles,  with  their  offspring ;  and  the 


Introduction. 


cxli 


triple  category  of  evolution,  Material,  Spiritual,  and 
Divine.  Of  the  manifold  occult  meanings  of  the  triad, 
it  is  perhaps  inopportune  to  speak  at  greater  length. 
The  quaternary  or  tetrad  is  accorded  a  high  value  in 
all  esoteric  teachings,  and  for  some  reasons  which  are 
obvious  enough  to  form  the  basis  of  one  of  those  fal- 
lacies with  which  the  super-subtlety  of  the  Greeks 
sometimes  confused  them.  Seven  has  always  been  a 
sacred  number.  Its  spiritual  significance  is  recognized 
both  in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  It  is  the  chief 
among  symbols,  in  fact,  and  enters  largely  into  all 
theogonies,  and  all  systems  of  magic.  In  employing 
it  as  the  formula  of  Heaven,  Balzac  has  only  followed 
all  esoteric  writers  and  teachers  ;  and  it  must  suffice  to 
add  that  those  who  have  more  than  a  superficial  ac- 
quaintance with  these  studies  know  that  the  position 
is  justified. 

This  is  the  conclusion  of  the  categories.  It  is  not 
asserted  that  the  whole  meaning  of  all  of  them  has  been 
given  in  these  pages.  In  the  nature  of  the  case  that 
could  not  have  been  done  ;  for,  as  previously  intimated, 
there  are  certain  symbolisms  employed  by  Balzac  the 
understanding  of  which  demands  just  as  much  educa- 
tion in  an  abstruse  department  of  knowledge  as  does 
that  of  the  higher  mathematics.  There  is  no  mystery 
about  the  matter.  Where  mystery  really  exists  all 
external  expression  is  debarred,  in  fact.  Whoever  will 
take  the  trouble  to  study  the  subjects  can  by  some 
painstaking  learn  all  that  Balzac  intended  to  convey. 
The  most  generally  interesting  part  of  his  doctrine, 


cxlii 


Introduction. 


however,  is  explained  here,  and  with  a  fulness  suffi- 
cient to  direct  such  readers  as  are  enough  interested 
in  the  topics  discussed  to  follow  up  the  curious  specu- 
lations of  the  author.    Perhaps  it  may  be  worth  while 
to  add  a  few  words  on  the  general  significance  of 
"Louis  Lambert."     An  attempt  has  been  made  to 
show  that  Balzac  had  thought  out  for  himself  a  phi- 
losophy which,  when  carefully  and  dispassionately  ex- 
amined, appears  to  unite  in  a  very  striking  way  many 
of  the  tenets  of  the  old  wisdom-religion  with  many 
of  the  most  firmly  held  working  hypotheses  of  modern 
Science.    Beyond  this,  Balzac  had  formulated  a  theory 
of  the  Will  which  resumed  the  fundamental  principles 
of  all  the  schools  of  occultism  and  all  the  esoteric 
teachings  of  Oriental  schools,  and  which,  moreover, 
anticipated  the   most   important   recent  advances  in 
the  domain  of  animal  magnetism.     Now,  what  lends 
particular  interest  to  this  Will  theory  of  Balzac's  is 
the  fact  that  he  was  not  compelled  to  seek  his  evi- 
dence at  second-hand  when  dealing  with  the  problems 
of  Volition  and  Intuition.    He  obtained  the  phenomena 
upon  which  he  based  his  conclusions  from  his  own  ex- 
perience ;  and  this  is  a  circumstance  of  the  first  con- 
sequence, for  the  reason  that  he  was  a  man  in  whom 
the  faculty  of  Intuition  and  the  Will-power  were  ab- 
normally developed.     Other  great  writers  have  been 
endowed  with,  large  Intuition,  but  no  other  united 
Intuition  and  Volition  in  anything  like  the  same  pro- 
portions.   To  him,  when  he  was  making  literature, 
the  relations  of  the   Subjective  and  Objective  were 


Introduction. 


cxliii 


very  literally  and  completely  reversed.  The  ease  of 
William  Blake,  the  painter,  is  the  only  one  on  record 
which  can  be  compared  with  this  one.  Blake  could 
so  objectify  his  subjective  impressions  as  to  be  able 
at  will  to  evoke  the  image  of  a  sitter  and  paint  a  por- 
trait from  that  image.  Balzac  went  further  even  than 
that.  He  so  vitalized  and  materialized  his  subjective 
creations  that  they  became  to  him  absolutely  indistin- 
guishable from  living  men  and  women.  More  than 
this :  he  possessed  the  peculiar  power  of  fitting  his 
subjectively  produced  people  with  exactly  the  charac- 
ters adapted  to  their  external  appearance  ;  and  having 
once  endowed  his  air-drawn  bodies  with  equally  air- 
drawn  minds,  they  proceeded  to  act,  speak,  and  reason 
precisely  as  actual  human  beings  might  have  done, 
not  only  without  prompting  from,  but  often  very  much 
to  the  astonishment  of,  their  creator.  This  last  pe- 
culiarity Balzac  shared  with  Dickens,  Thackeray,  and 
doubtless  other  men  of  genius  ;  and  to  it  the  world 
owes,  in  great  part,  that  singularly  impressive  vital- 
ism which  characterizes  nearly  all  his  fiction.  It  is  in 
fact  the  crowning  effect  of  the  true  creative  gift;  and 
what  is  far  more  important,  it  is  a  psychical  phenom- 
enon which  is  calculated  to  illuminate  some  of  the 
most  deep  and  difficult  of  psychological  problems. 
The  experience  and  testimony  of  a  man  gifted  as 
Balzac  was  must  be  of  the  strongest  interest  to  all 
who  are  open-mincled  enough  to  hold  their  Materialism 
provisionally,  and  who  are  candid  enough  to  welcome 
even  a  possibility  of  demonstrating  the  independent 


cxliv 


Introduction. 


entity  of  Mind  and  Spirit,  and  the  predominance  (con- 
sequent upon  this)  of  the  Spiritual  in  the  realm  of 
Realities.  Nor  should  it  be  forgotten  that  while  Balzac 
is  an  indubitably  strong  witness  on  behalf  of  the  genu- 
ineness, independence,  and  trustworthiness  of  Volition 
and  Intuition,  his  evidence  by  no  means  stands  alone, 
but  simply  supplements  and  reinforces  a  great  body 
of  doctrine  supported  on  a  great  body  of  phenomena, 
which  has  been  handed  down  through  the  ages  in  an 
unbroken  succession,  and  has  never  failed  to  receive 
the  indorsement  and  approval  of  many  strong  intelli- 
gences in  each  generation. 

It  would  be  inexcusable  to  close  this  examination  of 
"  Louis  Lambert "  without  referring  to  a  work  which, 
when  any  speculations  on  the  Will  are  under  discussion, 
must  inevitably  be  considered.  There  is  no  direct  evi- 
dence that  Balzac  was  acquainted  with  the  writings  of 
Schopenhauer,  and  the  indirect  evidence  is  against  the 
probability  of  such  knowledge.  It  is  true  that  Schopen- 
hauer's great  work  was  published  in  1818  ;  but  that  signi- 
fies little,  since  it  was  hardly  at  all  known  twenty  years 
later,  and  certainly  had  not  been  translated  into  French 
when  4 'Louis  Lambert"  was  written.  There  are  un- 
doubted analogies  between  Balzac  and  Schopenhauer, 
but  they  are  explicable  by  the  fact  that  both  writers 
drew  inspiration  from  the  same  source  ;  namely,  the  phi- 
losophies and  sacred  books  of  the  East.  Schopenhauer's 
indebtedness  to  the  Upanishads  is  frankly  and  fre- 
quently declared  by  him.  Indeed  his  entire  scheme  of 
thought  rests  upon  Hindu  foundations;  only  parts  of 


Introduction. 


cxlv 


the  superstructure  are  Western,  and  where  he  has  de- 
parted most  widely  from  Oriental  philosophy  he  has 
reasoned  the  least  cogently.     The  fundamental  princi- 
ples of  "The  World  as  Will  and  Idea"  are  purely 
Indian ;  for  though  the  doctrine  of  the  world  as  Idea 
may  be  found  in  Heraclitus  and  other  Greek  philoso- 
phers, there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  derived  from 
India  in  the  first  place.    Schopenhauer  holds  it  as  an 
a  priori  trx\t\\ for  he  says:  "It  is  the  expression  of 
the  most  general  form  of  all  possible  and  thinkable  ex- 
perience, —  a  form  which  is  more  general  than  time,  or 
space,  or  causality,  for  they  all  presuppose  it ;  and  each 
of  these  is  valid  only  for  a  particular  class  of  ideas  ; 
whereas  the  antithesis  of  object  and  subject  is  the  com- 
mon form  of  all  these  classes,  is  that  form  under  which 
alone  any  idea  of  whatever  kind  it  may  be,  abstract  or 
intuitive,  pure  or  empirical,  is  possible  and  thinkable. 
No  truth  therefore  is  more  certain,  more  independent  of 
all  others,  and  less  in  need  of  proof  than  this,  —  that 
all  that  exists  for  knowledge,  and  therefore  this  whole 
world,  is  only  object  in  relation  to  subject,  perception 
of  a  perceiver,  in  a  word,  idea."    Kant  analyzed  phe- 
nomena, and  showed  their  illusiveness.    He  penetrated 
below  phenomenal  existence  and  recognized  as  the  im- 
manent reality  what  he  termed  the  ding  an  sich,  —  the 
"  thing-in-itself."     What  the  thing  in  itself  was,  how- 
ever, he  did  not  attempt  to  determine  ;  in  effect  it  was 
the  Unknowable  for  him.     Schopenhauer  went  further, 
and  boldly  postulated  Will  as  the  thing-in-itself,  as  the 
essence  of  all  things,  as  the  cause  and  the  maintainer  of 

10 


cxlvi 


Introduction. 


life.     Thus  he  says:  "  Will  is  the  thing-in-itself,  the 
inner  content,  the  essence  of  the  world.    Life,  the  visi- 
ble world,  the  phenomenon,  is  only  the  mirror  of  the 
will.     Therefore  life  accompanies  the  will  as  insepara- 
bly as  the  shadow  accompanies  the  body ;  and  if  will 
exists,  so  will  life,  the  world,  exist.    Life  is  therefore 
assured  to  the  will  to  live  ;  and  so  long  as  we  are  filled 
with  the  will  to  live  we  need  have  no  fear  for  our  exist- 
ence, even  in  the  presence  of  death."     Of  course  what 
is  here  referred  to  is  Life  in  general,  the  life  of  the  race, 
not  that  of  the  individual.     It  must  also  be  pointed  out 
that  when  Schopenhauer  speaks  of  the  Will  he  means 
much  more  than  the  individual  will.     It  is  not  only 
conscious  volition  ;  it  is  also  that  which  has  been  termed 
blind  force.    In  his  essay  on  "  Will  in  Nature,"  he  thus 
speaks  of  it :  "  This  will,  far  from  being  inseparable 
from,  and  even  a  mere  result  of,  knowledge,  differs  rad- 
ically and  entirely  from,  and  is  quite  independent  of, 
knowledge,  which  is  secondary  and  of  later  origin,  and 
can  consequently  subsist  and  manifest  itself  without 
knowledge  —  a  thing  which  actually  takes  place  through- 
out the  whole  of  Nature,  from  the  animal  kingdom 
downwards;"  and,  he  proceeds,  4 '  this  will  being  the 
one  and   only   tiling  in  itself,   the  sole  truly  real, 
primary,  metaphysical  thing  in  a  world  in  which  every- 
thing else  is  only  phenomenon,  —  i.  e.  mere  representa- 
tion,—  gives  all  things,  whatever  they  may  be,  the 
power  to  exist  and  to  act ;  "  and  he  concludes  this  defi- 
nition by  affirming  that  "  we  are  never  able  to  infer  ab- 
sence of  will  from  absence  of  knowledge  ;  for  the  will 


Introduction. 


cxlvii 


may  be  pointed  out  even  in  all  phenomena  of  uncon- 
scious Nature,  whether  in  plants  or  inorganic  bodies  : 
in  short,  the  will  is  not  conditioned  by  knowledge,  as 
has  hitherto  been  universally  assumed,  although  knowl- 
edge is  conditioned  by  the  will."  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  Schopenhauer  knew  what  he  meant  himself  by 
"  unconscious  will,"  though  he  does  not  undertake  to 
expound  the  paradox ;  but  it  is  scarcely  to  be  hoped 
that  in  the  absence  of  exposition  any  one  else  will  un- 
derstand it,  and  if  it  be  objected  to  as  simply  unthink- 
able the  objection  will  be  hard  to  meet. 

He  however  follows  the  Indian  doctrine  in  holding 
that  the  will  to  live  is  the  cause  of  the  sorrow  and  suf- 
fering apparently  inseparable  from  existence.  What  he 
calls  the  will  to  live  may  readily  be  identified  with  the 
upadanas,  the  trishna,  the  tanha,  of  the  East ;  and 
while  there  is  a  broad  divergence  between  his  conclu- 
sions and  those  of  his  Oriental  teachers,  there  is  a  curi- 
ously close  resemblance  between  his  language  and 
theirs  when  speaking  of  the  peace  and  consolation  to  be 
derived,  —  in  the  one  case  from  the  fruition  of  the 
Fourfold  Path,  in  the  other  from  the  denial  of  the  will 
to  live.  Buddhism  may  claim  Schopenhauer  as  its  own 
up  to  a  certain  point.  Listen  to  one  of  the  discourses 
of  Sakya-Muni  in  evidence  of  this:  "  This,  O  monks, 
is  the  sacred  truth  of  the  origin  of  suffering :  it  is  the 
thirst  for  being,  which  leads  from  birth  to  birth,  to- 
gether with  lust  and  desire,  which  finds  gratification 
here  and  there  ;  the  thirst  for  being,  the  thirst  for  pleas- 
ure, the  thirst  for  power.    This,  O  monks,  is  the  sacred 


cxlviii 


Introduction. 


truth  of  the  extinction  of  suffering :  the  extinction  of 
this  thirst  by  complete  annihilation  of  desire,  letting  it 
go,  expelling  it,  separating  one's  self  from  it,  giving  it 
no  room."  Here  we  have  clearly  the  will  (or  desire)  to 
live  postulated  as  the  ground  of  suffering,  and  the  denial 
of  the  will  to  live  postulated  as  the  sole  effectual  remedy 
for  and  relief  from  suffering,  —  which  is  life.  This  was 
the  great  discovery  made  by  Sakya-Muni  during  his 
vigil  beneath  the  sacred  tree.  This  is  what  he  declared 
when,  in  Sir  Edwin  Arnold's  beautiful  paraphrase,  he 
announced : — 

"  Many  a  House  of  Life 
Hath  held  me,  —  seeking  ever  him  who  wrought 
These  prisons  of  the  senses,  sorrow  fraught ; 

Sore  was  my  ceaseless  strife  1 

But  now, 

Thou  Builder  of  this  Tabernacle,  —  Thou! 
I  know  Thee !    Never  shalt  thou  build  again 

These  walls  of  pain, 
Xor  raise  the  roof-tree  of  deceits,  nor  lay 

Fresh  rafters  on  the  clay ; 
Broken  thy  House  is,  and  the  ridge-pole  split! 

Delusion  fashioned  it! 
Safe  pass  I  thence,  —  Deliverance  to  obtain.' ' 

The  extinction  of  the  thirst  of  life  by  the  annihilation 
of  desire,  the  denial  of  the  will  to  live,  —  these  are  the 
Eastern  and  the  Western  presentations  of  the  same 
system  of  thought. 

The  place  given  by  Balzac  to  the  Will  in  "  Louis 
Lambert"  is  apparently  less  important  than  the  one 


Introduction. 


cxlix 


assigned  to  it  by  Schopenhauer.    But  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  Balzac  really  neither  rewrote  nor  repro- 
duced his  Treatise  on  the  Will,  and  that  all  he  has 
given  in  "  Louis  Lambert "  is  a  fragment  which,  while 
it  suggests  much,  leaves  much  unaccounted  for.  Here 
and  there  are  indications  —  especially  in  the  categories 
—  which  may  be  regarded  as  adumbrating  a  larger  sig- 
nificance than  is  expressly  warranted  ;  as,  for  example, 
when  he  says  that  all  varieties  of  animal  form  are  de- 
rived from  the  combination  of  Will  with  Substance. 
Here,  too,  as  was  pointed  out  in  dealing  with  the  pas- 
sage referred  to,  Balzac  appears  to  be  in  accord  with 
Schopenhauer  in  postulating  unconscious  will-power; 
and  it  may  possibly  be  thought  by  some  that  this  oth- 
erwise singular  point  of  agreement  indicates  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  German  by  the  French  author.    But  it  is 
far  more  probable  that  Balzac,  here  as  elsewhere,  de- 
rived his  doctrine  from  some  of  those  Indian  phi- 
losophies which  with  less  boldness,  but  in  the  final 
analysis  not  less  illogically  than  Schopenhauer,  posit 
at  some  (however  remote)  point  in  their  systems  an 
exercise  of  will  which  can  only  be  conceived  of  (if  it 
can  be  conceived  of  at  all)  as  unconscious.     In  any 
search  for  final  causes  the  Unknowable  must  at  last 
stop  the  inquest,  simply  because  the  conditioned  and 
finite  can  by  no  possibility  apprehend  the  unconditioned 
and  Infinite.    It  is  as  well,  however,  to  call  a  halt  to 
futile  speculation  on  the  hither  side  of  unthinkable 
propositions  ;  and  this  truth  Schopenhauer  might  have 
perceived  more  clearly,  or  acted  upon  with  more  satisfac- 


cl 


Introduction. 


tory  results.  Yet  it  must  be  said  that  no  philosopher 
has  been  more  strangely  misunderstood  than  the  mis- 
called Apostle  of  Pessimism.  Because  he  held  that  this 
form  of  life  was  not  worth  living;  because,  in  plainer 
terms,  he  took  the  ground  which  underlies  Hinduism, 
Buddhism,  and  Christianity  alike  ;  because  he  asserted 
the  impermanence  and  futility  of  phenomenal  existence 
in  common  with  the  deepest  thinkers  the  world  has  ever 
known,  — he  has  been  branded  Pessimist.  The  charac- 
terization is  emphatically  Philistine,  Materialist,  shal- 
low, and  misleading ;  and  the  proof  of  this  will  not  be 
difficult. 

What  is  the  state  to  which  the  discipline  called  by 
him  "  denial  of  the  will  to  live  "  is  represented  as  bring- 
ing those  who  successfully  undertake  the  enterprise? 
This  is  Schopenhauer's  answer  to  that  question:  "He 
who  has  attained  to  the  denial  of  the  will  to  live,  how- 
ever poor,  joyless,  and  full  of  privation  his  condition 
may  appear  when  looked  at  externally,  is  yet  filled  with 
inward  joy  and  the  true  peace  of  heaven.  It  is  not  the 
restless  strain  of  life,  the  jubilant  delight  which  has 
keen  suffering  as  its  preceding  or  succeeding  condition, 
in  the  experience  of  the  man  who  loves  life  ;  but  it  is  a 
peace  that  cannot  be  shaken,  a  deep  rest  and  inward 
serenity,  a  state  which  we  cannot  behold  without  the 
greatest  longing  when  it  is  brought  before  our  eyes  or 
our  imagination,  because  we  at  once  recognize  it  as 
that  which  alone  is  right,  infinitely  surpassing  every- 
thing else,  upon  which  our  better  self  cries  within  us 
the  great  sapere  aucle.    Then  we  feel  that  every  grati- 


Introduction. 


cli 


fication  of  our  wishes  won  from  the  world  is  merely 
like  the  alms  which  the  beggar  receives  from  life  to-day 
that  he  may  hunger  again  to-morrow ;  resignation,  on 
the  contraiy,  is  like  an  inherited  estate,  it  frees  the 
owner  forever  from  all  care.,,  If  this  is  pessimism,  it  is 
curious  that  the  doctrine  is  illustrated  by  Schopenhauer 
from  the  lives  of  the  Christian  saints,  from  Saint  Fran- 
cis of  Assisi,  from  Madame  Guyon,  no  less  than  from 
Buddhism  and  Brahmanism.  And  in  the  conclusion  of 
his  Fourth  Book,  on  44  The  Assertion  and  Denial  of  the 
Will,"  he  clearly  intimates  that  nihilism  is  abhorrent  to 
him,  and  that  he  believes  in  the  reality  and  superiority 
of  the  condition  which  supervenes  upon  the  denial  of 
the  will  to  live.  "If,"  he  says,  "it  should  be  abso- 
lutely insisted  upon  that  in  some  way  or  other  a  posi- 
tive knowledge  should  be  attained  of  that  which 
philosophy  can  only  express  negatively  as  the  denial 
of  the  will,  there  would  be  nothing  for  it  but  to  refer 
to  that  state  which  all  those  who  have  attained  to 
complete  denial  of  the  will  have  experienced,  and 
which  has  been  variously  denoted  by  the  names  ec- 
stasjr,  rapture,  illumination,  union  with  God,  and  so 
forth ;  a  state,  however,  which  cannot  properly  be 
called  knowledge,  because  it  has  not  the  form  of  sub- 
ject and  object,  and  is,  moreover,  only  attainable  in 
one's  own  experience  and  cannot  be  further  communi- 
cated." That  is  to  sa}%  it  is  not  knowledge,  because 
it  transcends  knowledge,  which  latter  is  but  one  of  the 
manifestations  of  the  "will  to  live."  Schopenhauer's 
real  belief  is,  however,  so  clearly  shown  in  the  last 
sentences  of  the  Fourth   Book  of  4  4  The  World  as 


clii 


Introduction. 


Will  and  Idea,"  that  only  the  crassest  materialism 
could  ever  have  represented  him  as  holding  to  annihi- 
lation. He  has  previously  warned  his  readers  against 
the  very  misconception  most  of  them  have  fallen  into, 
in  pointing  out  that  "the  conception  of  nothing  is 
essentially  relative,  and  always  refers  to  a  definite 
something  which  it  negatives/'  And  again:  "  Every 
nothing  is  thought,  as  such,  only  in  relation  to  some- 
thing, and  presupposes  this  relation,  and  thus  also  this 
something."  He  uses  these  words  in  concluding: 
"Thus,  in  this  way,  by  contemplation  of  the  life  and 
conduct  of  saints,  whom  it  is  certainly  rarely  granted 
us  to  meet  with  in  our  own  experience,  but  who  are 
brought  before  our  eyes  by  their  written  history,  and, 
with  the  stamp  of  inner  truth,  by  art,  we  must  banish 
the  dark  impressions  of  that  nothingness  which  we 
discern  behind  all  virtue  and  holiness  as  their  final 
goal,  and  which  we  fear  as  children  fear  the  dark ;  we 
must  not  even  evade  it  like  the  Indians,  through  myths 
and  meaningless  words,  such  as  reabsorption  in  Brahma 
or  the  Nirvana  of  the  Buddhists.  Rather  do  we  freely 
acknowledge  that  what  remains  after  the  entire  aboli- 
tion of  will  is  for  all  those  ivho  are  still  full  of  icill 
certainly  nothing;  but,  conversely,  to  those  in  whom 
the  will  has  turned  and  has  denied  itself  this  our 
world,  which  is  so  reed,  vnth  all  its  suns  and  milky- 
ways,  is  nothing."  The  words  here  emphasized  by 
italics  prove  in  the  most  conclusive  manner  the  spiritu- 
ality and  the  subtlety  of  Schopenhauer's  philosophy. 
Those  only  can  regard  him  as  a  true  pessimist  and  as  a 
believer  in  annihilation,  who  expose  their  own  narrow 


Introduction. 


cliii 


limitations  by  declaring  that  Buddhism  is  a  pessimist 
religion,  and  that  Nirvana  means  annihilation.  And  a 
single  verse  from  the  Dhammapada  ought  to  settle  that 
question  :  "  He  whose  appetites  are  at  rest,  like  steeds 
thoroughly  broken  in  by  the  trainer,  he  who  has  put 
away  pride,  who  is  free  from  impurity,  him  thus  perfect 
the  gods  themselves  envy."  As  Oldenburg  observes,  in 
his  Life  of  Buddha,  the  pious  Buddhist  "  see4s  Nirvana 
writh  the  same  joyous  sense  of  victoiy  in  prospect  with 
which  the  Christian  looks  forward  to  his  goal,  —  ever- 
lasting life." 

Thus  we  have  seen  that  religion  and  philosophy  con- 
cur in  supporting  certain  definite  conclusions  which  are 
doubtless  repugnant  to  that  hard  Materialism  whose 
manifestation  characterizes  the  present  course  of  the 
world,  which  are  rebelled  against  by  our  lower  elements 
instinctively  and  of  necessity,  yet  which  derive  from 
their  antiquity,  universality,  and  acceptance  by  great 
minds  (to  adduce  no  other  reasons)  a  certain  weight 
and  solemnity,  a  certain  masterful  solidity,  appealing 
in  no  vague  or  doubtful  way  to  what  is  highest  and 
best  in  humanity.  The  doctrines  we  have  followed  in 
Balzac's  story  do  not  owe  their  main  significance  to  the 
fact  that  they  were  advanced  by  that  powerful  mind. 
That  fact  indeed  enhances  their  importance,  for  the 
reason  that  Balzac  was  strongly  endowed  with  the  lofty 
faculty  of  Intuition,  and  was  thereby  enabled  to  testify 
from  his  own  experience  to  the  truth  and  reality  of 
many  deep  things  demonstration  of  which  is  denied 
less  gifted  souls.  But  the  chief  consequence  attach- 
ing to  the  philosophy  here  unfolded  consists  in  its 


cliv 


Introduction. 


unity  with  and  relations  to  those  venerable  systems  of 
thought  which  the  Western  world  is  now  slowly  learn- 
ing to  regard  with  something  of  the  respect  and  atten- 
tion they  deserve.  An  endeavor  has  been  made  in  this 
introduction  to  indicate  some  of  the  points  of  agree- 
ment between  these  hoary  doctrines  and  the  best-sup- 
ported theories  of  modern  physical  science.  In  regard 
to  the  exponents  of  that  science  it  may  indeed  be  well 
to  recall  Schopenhauer's  energetic  and  not  uncalled-for 
protest:  "  Men,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  set  themselves 
up  for  enlighteners  of  mankind,  who  have  studied  chem- 
istry, or  physics,  or  mineralogy,  and  nothing  else  under 
the  sun  ;  to  this  they  add  their  only  knowledge  of  any 
other  kind,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  little  they  may  remem- 
ber of  the  doctrines  of  the  school  catechism  ;  and  when 
they  find  that  these  two  elements  will  not  harmonize 
they  straightway  turn  scoffers  at  religion,  and  soon  be- 
come shallow  and  absurd  Materialists."  The  criticism 
has  not  altogether  ceased  to  be  applicable,  though  it 
was  written  many  .years  ago.  It  is  of  the  more  im- 
portance to  bear  in  mind  the  fallibility,  and  often  the 
incapacity,  of  men  of  science  in  regard  to  subjects 
outside  the  lines  of  their  research,  since  for  some  time 
public  opinion  has  reposed  a  dangerous  confidence  in 
this  peculiarly  modern  form  of  dogmatism*  The  phrase 
4  c  emancipated  Reason"  has  no  doubt  an  agreeable 
sound,  and  seems  to  suggest  advance  and  at  the  same 
time  liberation  from  error.  But  if  Reason  happens  to 
be  only  one  side  of  the  human  character,  and  if,  more- 
over, it  is  the  lower  of  two  sides,  of  which  the  first 
and  higher  has  been  a  good  deal  contemned  during  the 


Introduction. 


civ 


nineteenth  century,  it  may  very  well  prove  in  the  end 
that  the  so-called  emancipation  of  Reason  is,  strictly 
speaking,  no  more  conducive  to  real  progress  than 
the  amputation  of  one  of  a  man's  legs  would  be  to 
locomotion. 

In  44  Louis  Lambert"  Balzac  outlined  a  philosophy 
which  cannot  be  denied  breadth  and  height/which  gives 
full  play  to  the  most  intrepid  imagination,  and  which 
synthesizes  the  oldest  and  the  newest  of  thoughts,  both 
intuitional  and  scientific.  It  is  indeed  little  more  than 
the  scaffolding  of  an  edifice  which  the  architect  was 
unable  to  complete  ;  but  the  design  can  be  traced,  and 
we  are  permitted  to  realize,  by  the  help  of  inference,  the 
appearance  it  would  have  presented  when  finished.  It 
is  perhaps  of  more  value  than  man}T  fragmentary  cre- 
ations, for  we  may  be  said  to  possess  the  whole  of  it 
in  outline ;  and  if  we  cannot  hope  to  clothe  this  skel- 
eton as  the  genius  that  planned  it  would  have  done, 
we  are  at  least  competent  to  follow  the  inspiration  back 
to  its  source,  and  thus  to  substitute  our  own  feebler, 
3^et  not  perhaps  less  intelligible,  representations  of  the 
principles  involved  and  the  truths  conveyed,  for  the 
lucid  and  penetrating  exposition  of  the  Master.  It  is, 
too,  a  protest  against  Materialism,  —  a  protest  which 
the  author  carries  even  further  in  "  Seraphita,"  the  final 
volume  of  his  philosophical  trilogy,  but  which  is  en- 
forced here  with  a  power  and  a  scope  hardly  to  be 
surpassed. 

George  Frederic  Parsons. 


I 


LOUIS  LAMBERT. 


Et  nunc  et  semper  dilectce  dicatum. 

Louis  Lambert  was  born  in  1797,  at  Montoire,  a 
little  town  in  the  Vendomois,  where  his  father  carried 
on  a  tannery  of  no  great  importance,  expecting  to  make 
him  his  successor.  But  the  boy's  inclinations  for  study, 
which  early  showed  themselves,  changed  in  a  measure 
the  father's  plans.  Moreover,  the  tanner  and  his  wife 
cherished  Louis  as  parents  cherish  an  only  son,  and 
never  thwarted  him.'  The  Old  and  New  Testament  fell 
into  the  child's  hands  before  he  was  five  years  old,  and 
that  book,  which  contains  so  many  books,  decided  his 
destiny.  Did  his  infantine  imagination  comprehend 
the  deep  mysteries  of  Scripture  ?  could  it  already  follow 
the  Holy  Spirit  in  its  path  through  the  universe?  or, 
was  it  merely  fascinated  by  the  romantic  charms  which 
abound  in  those  poems  of  the  Orient?  did  the  child's 
soul  in  its  first  innocence  sympathize  with  the  sublime 
piet}^  which  hands  divine  have  shed  within  the  book? 
To  some  readers  the  following  narrative  will  answer 
these  questions. 

'-TV  1  - 


2 


Louis  Lambert, 


One  circumstance  resulted  from  the  boy's  first  study 
of  the  Bible  :  Louis  begged  and  borrowed  books  through- 
out the  little  town  ;  obtaining  them  by  that  persuasive 
charm  whose  secret  belongs  to  childhood  and  which  no 
one  is  able  to  resist.  Spending  his  whole  time  in  read- 
ing, which  was  neither  directed  nor  interfered  with,  he 
reached  his  tenth  year.  In  those  clays  substitutes  for 
the  conscription  were  difficult  to  obtain,  and  wealthy 
parents  were  in  the  habit  of  engaging  them  in  advance, 
so  as  not  to  be  without  them  when  the  draft  was  made. 
The  poor  tanners  were  unable,  through  poverty,  to  buy 
a  substitute  for  their  son,  and  to  put  him  in  the  Church 
was  the  only  other  means  the  law  allowed  them  by  which 
to  save  him  from  the  draft.  They  therefore  sent  him, 
in  1807,  to  his  maternal  uncle,  the  curate  of  Mer,  an- 
other little  town  on  the  Loire,  near  Blois.  This  course 
satisfied  both  Louis's  passion  for  knowledge  and  his 
parents'  desire  to  save  him  from  the  frightful  uncertain- 
ties of  a  soldier's  life  ;  moreover,  his  studious  tastes  and 
his  precocious  intellect  gave  promise  of  future  high  dis- 
tinction in  the  Church.  After  remaining  three  years 
with  his  uncle,  an  old  and  somewhat  learned  Oratorian, 
Louis  left  Mer  early  in  1811  to  enter  the  college  of  Yen- 
dome  where  he  was  maintained  and  educated  at  the  ex- 
pense of  Madame  de  Stael. 

Louis  Lambert  owed  the  protection  of  this  celebrated 
woman  to  chance,  a  means  by  which  Providence  often 
smooths  the  way  for  neglected  genius.  To  us,  whose 
eyes  seldom  look  below  the  surface  of  human  events, 
such  vicissitudes,  so  frequent  in  the  lives  of  great  men, 


Louis  Lambert. 


3 


seem  the  result  of  mere  material  phenomena ;  to  most 
biographers  the  head  of  a  man  of  genius  shows  above 
the  masses  as  a  fine  flower  attracts  by  its  brilliancy  the 
eye  of  a  naturalist.  The  comparison  applies  to  this 
event  in  the  life  of  Louis  Lambert,  who,  as  a  usual  thing, 
spent  the  time  his  uncle  allowed  him  for  his  holidays 
with  his  parents  at  Montoire.  Instead  of  enjoying,  as 
most  school-boys  do,  the  sweets  of  the  far  niente,  so  en- 
ticing at  any  age,  he  carried  his  books  and  a  slice  of 
bread  into  the  woods  where  he  could  read  and  meditate, 
free  from  the  remonstrances  of  his  mother,  to  whom 
such  persevering  study  was  beginning  to  seem  dangerous. 
True  mother's  instinct !  From  this  time  reading  became 
a  species  of  hunger  in  Louis's  soul  which  nothing  ap- 
peased ;  he  devoured  books  of  all  sorts,  —  feeding  indis- 
criminately on  history,  philosophy,  physics,  and  religious 
works.  He  once  told  me  that  he  had  found  unspeakable 
delight  in  reading  dictionaries  in  default  of  other  books, 
and  I  readily  believed  it.  What  scholar  has  not  again 
and  again  found  pleasure  in  searching  out  the  meaning 
of  some  obscure  substantive?  The  analysis  of  a  word, 
its  conformation,  its  history,  were  to  Lambert  a  text  for 
revery, —  but  not  the  instinctive  revery  with  which  a  child 
accustoms  itself  to  the  phenomena  of  life  and  strengthens 
its  perceptions  both  moral  and  physical  (an  involuntary 
culture  which,  later  on,  bears  fruit  in  the  understanding 
and  in  the  character)  ;  no,  Louis  seized  upon  facts  and 
explained  them  to  himself,  after  searching  out  their 
cause  and  their  effect  with  the  perspicacity  of  a  savage. 
By  one  of  those  startling  gifts  which  Nature  sometimes 


4 


Louis  Lambert. 


delights  in  bestowing,  and  which  proved  the  idiosyncracy 
of  his  own  being,  Louis,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  was  able 
to  give  fluent  expression  to  ideas  whose  real  depth  and 
meaning  were  revealed  to  me  only  in  after  years  :  — 

"  Often,"  he  once  said  to  me  in  speaking  of  his  read- 
ing, UI  have  made  delightful  journeys  embarked  on  a 
single  word  which  bore  me  through  the  abysses  of  the 
past  as  an  insect  alighting  on  a  blade  of  grass  floats 
at  the  will  of  a  current.  Starting  from  Greece  I  have 
reached  Rome,  and  traversed  the  extent  of  modern 
eras.  What  a  glorious  book  might  be  written  on  the 
life  and  adventures  of  a  word  !  No  doubt  it  receives 
many  impressions  from  the  events  in  whose  service  it  is 
used  ;  it  awakens  different  ideas,  according  to  its  sur- 
roundings ;  but  its  real  greatness  appears  when  we  con- 
sider it  under  the  triple  aspect  of  soul,  body,  and 
motion.  The  mere  consideration  of  a  word,  even  if  we 
abstract  its  functions,  its  effects,  its  performances,  is 
sufficient  to  launch  us  on  a  wide  expanse  of  meditation. 
Are  not  most  words  dyed  with  the  ideas  they  externally 
represent?  To  what  originating  genius  do  we  owe 
them?  If  a  vast  intellect  was  needed  for  the  creation 
of  a  single  word,  how  old  is  human  speech?  The  as- 
sembling of  letters,  their  form,  the  countenance,  as  it 
were,  which  the}T  give  to  a  wrord,  present  an  accurate 
image  (according  to  the  character  of  each  nation)  of 
the  unknown  beings  whose  memory  survives  in  us. 
Who  shall  explain  to  us  philosophically  the  transition 
from  sensation  to  thought,  from  thought  to  word,  from 
the  word  to  its  hieroglyphieal  expression;  from  hiero- 


Louis  Lambert, 


5 


glyphs  to  alphabet^  from  the  alphabet  to  written  elo- 
quence, whose  beauty  lies  in  a  train  of  images  classed 
by  rhetoricians,  which  are,  as  it  were,  the  hieroglyphs  of 
thought?     May  not  the  ancient  picturing  of  human 
ideas  configured  by  zoological  forms  have  determined 
the  earliest  signs  used  in  the  East  for  the  writing  of 
language?    May  it  not  also  have  left,  traditionally, 
certain  vestiges  |to  our  modern  tongues,  all  of  which 
have  caught  up  fragments  of  the  primitive  language  of 
departed  nations,  —  majestic   and  solemn  language, 
whose  majesty  and   solemnity   decrease  as  societies 
grow  older;  whose  sonorous  echoes  in  the  Hebrew 
Bible,  still  so  beautiful  in  Greece,  grow  feebler  through 
the  progress  of  our  successive  civilizations.    Is  it  to 
that  first  essence  that  we  owe  the  mysterious  spirit  hid- 
den in  human  speech?    Is  there  not  a  species  of  visible 
rectitude  in  the  word  Truth  ?    The  terse  sound  of  the 
word  calls  up  an  image  of  chaste  nudity,  of  the  simplic- 
ity of  the  True  in  all  things.  The  very  syllable  breathes 
freshness.    I  take  the  formula  of  an  abstract  idea  for 
my  example,  not  wishing  to  express  the  problem  by  a 
word  which  might  make  it  too  easy  to  comprehend,  — 
such  for  instance  as  the  word  floaty  which  speaks  clearly 
of  the  senses.    So  it  is  with  other  words  ;  all  are  in- 
stinct with  a  living  power  derived  from  the  soul  which 
they  send  back  to  its  jsource  by  the  mysterious  force  of 
a  marvellous  action  and  reaction  between  word  and 
thought,  — like,  as  it  were,  a  lover  drawing  from  the 
lips  of  his  mistress  as  much  love  as  he  presses  into 
them.     Words,  by  their  mere  aspect  to  the  eye,  vivify 


6 


Louis  Lambert. 


in  our  brain  the  creations  to  which  they  serve  as  gar- 
ments. Like  other  beings,  they  have  their  own  place 
where  alone  their  qualities  can  fully  work  and  develop. 
But  the  subject  is  a  science  in  itself."  He  paused  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  to  say,  "  We  are  too  great, 
and  yet  too  little." 

Louis's  passion  for  reading  had  been  well  nourished. 
His  uncle  owned  from  two  to  three  thousand  volumes. 
These  treasures  came  from  the  pillage  of  abbeys  and 
castles  during  the  Revolution.  The  worthy  man  had  been 
able  as pretre  assermente  to  cull  the  choicest  works  from 
the  precious  collections  which  were  sold  in  those  days  by 
the  weight.  In  three  years  Louis  Lambert  had  assimi- 
lated the  substance  of  all  the  books  in  his  uncle's  library 
that  deserved  study.  The  absorption  of  ideas  through 
reading  became  in  him  a  curious  phenomenon ;  his  eye 
took  in  seven  or  eight  lines  at  a  glance;  his  mind 
caught  and  appreciated  their  meaning  with  a  swiftness 
equal  to  the  action  of  the  eye  ;  often  one  word  in  a  sen- 
tence was  enough  to  give  him  the  meaning  of  the  whole. 
His  memory  was  amazing,  retaining  with  equal  fidelity 
the  thoughts  acquired  by  reading  and  those  which  re- 
flection or  conversation  suggested  to  him.  In  fact,  he 
possessed  all  forms  of  memory,  —  for  names,  words, 
places,  things,  and  faces.  Not  only  could  he  recall 
objects  at  will,  but  he  could  see  them  again  in  his  own 
mind,  precisely  the  same  in  situation,  vividness,  and 
coloring  as  they  were  when  he  first  beheld  them.  This 
power  he  applied  equally  to  the  intangible  acts  of  the 
understanding.    He  recollected,  to  use  his  own  saying, 


Louis  Lambert. 


7 


not  only  the  position  of  thoughts  on  the  page  of  the 
book  from  which  he  took  them,  but  also  the  workings 
of  his  own  mind  at  distant  periods.  By  an  almost  un- 
heard-of privilege  his  memory  was  able  to  retrace  the 
entire  life  and  progress  of  his  mind,  from  the  earliest 
idea  that  dawned  upon  it  to  the  last  fruition  of  his 
thought ;  through  dimness  to  lucidity.  His  brain,  early 
subjected  to  the  difficult  mechanism  of  the  concentration 
of  human  powers,  drew  from  its  own  rich  stores  a  crowd 
of  images,  wonderful  for  their  reality  and  their  vigor, 
with  which  he  fed  his  mind  during  the  process  of  his 
limpid  contemplations. 

"  When  it  pleases  me  to  do  so,"  he  said  in  his  pecu- 
liar language,  to  which  the  treasures  of  memory  im- 
parted a  precocious  originality,  "I  draw  a  veil  before 
my  eyes.  I  retire  within  myself  and  find  a  darkened 
chamber,  where  the  events  of  nature  reproduce  them- 
selves in  purer  forms  than  those  under  which  they  first 
appeared  to  my  exterior  senses." 

At  twelve  years  of  age  his. imagination,  stimulated  by 
the  perpetual  exercise  of  his  faculties,  was  developed  to 
a  degree  which  enabled  him  to  obtain  such  exact  no- 
tions of  things  which  he  knew  through  reading  only 
that  the  image  imprinted  on  his  mind  could  not  have 
been  more  vivid  had  he  seen  them  in  reality,  —  whether 
he  reached  the  result  by  analogy,  or  whether  he  were 
gifted  with  a  species  of  second-sight  by  which  he  was 
enabled  to  embrace  all  nature. 

"  When  I  read  of  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,"  he  one 
day  said  to  me,'"  I  saw  all  the  incidents.    The  volleys 


8 


Louis  Lambert. 


of  cannon,  the  shouts  of  the  combatants  sounded  in  my 
ears  and  stirred  my  very  entrails.  I  smelt  the  powder  ; 
I  heard  the  tramp  of  horses  and  the  cries  of  men  ;  I  saw 
the  plain  where  the  armed  nations  clashed  together  as 
though  I  stood  on  the  heights  of  the  Santon.  The 
sight  was  awful  to  me.  like  a  page  of  the  Apocalypse." 

When  he  thus  put  all  his  forces  into  reading  he  lost, 
to  a  certain  extent,  the  consciousness  of  physical  life ; 
existing  only  through  the  all-powerful  action  of  his  in- 
ward organs,  the  compass  of  which  was  then  immeasur- 
ably extended, — to  use  his  own  expression,  he  "  left 
space  behind  him."  But  I  will  not  anticipate  the  his- 
tory of  the  intellectual  phases  of  his  life.  I  have  been 
led,  in  spite  of  myself,  to  invert  the  order  in  which  I 
ought  to  unfold  the  history  of  a  man  who  carried  all  his 
action  into  thought,  just  as  others  put  all  their  being 
into  action. 

A  strong  inclination  led  him  toward  the  study  of 
mysticism.  "Abyssus  abyssum"  he  said  to  me,  64  our 
mind  is  an  abyss  which  delights  in  depths  profound. 
As  children,  men,  and  dotards,  we  love  mystery,  under 
whatever  form  it  comes."  The  predilection  was  fatal 
to  him,  —  if  indeed  we  may  judge  his  life  by  ordinary 
standards,  and  measure  his  joys  by  our  own  or  by  the 
theories  of  social  prejudice.  This  taste  for  "  the  things 
of  heaven  "  (another  of  his  phrases),  this  mens  divinior, 
wras  due  perhaps  to  the  influence  of  the  first  books  which 
he  read  in  his  uncle's  library.  Saint  Theresa  and  Ma- 
dame Guyon  were  to  him  a  continuation  of  the  Bible, 
the  first  food  of  his  adult  intelligence,  and  they  accus- 


Louis  Lambert. 


9 


tomed  him  to  those  ardent  reactions  of  the  soul  in  which 
ecstasy  is  both  a  means  and  a  result.  This  study,  this 
taste,  uplifted  his  heart,  ennobled  and  purified  it,  gave 
him  a  thirst  for  the  Divine  nature,  inspired  him  with  del- 
icate emotions  that  were  almost  feminine  and  which  are 
instinctive  in  the  souls  of  great  men ;  possibly  the  sub- 
limity of  such  min  comes  from  the  need  of  self-devotion 
which  distinguishes  womanhood,  —  carried  by  them  into 
higher  things.  Thanks  to  his  early  impressions,  Louis 
continued  pure  through  his  college  life.  This  noble 
virginity  of  the  senses  had  the  effect,  necessarily,  of 
enriching  the  warmth  of  his  blood  and  increasing  the 
faculties  of  his  mind. 

Madame  de  Stael,  banished  to  forty  leagues  from 
Paris,  spent  several  months  of  her  exile  in  a  country- 
house  near  Vendome.  Walking  one  day  near  the  boun- 
daries of  the  park,  she  encountered  the  tanner's  son, 
dressed  almost  in  rags  and  absorbed  in  a  book.  The 
book  happened  to  be  a  translation  of  ' '  Heaven  and 
Hell."  In  those  days  MM.  Saint-Martin,  de  Gence, 
and  a  few  other  French  writers,  partly  German,  were 
the  only  men  in  the  whole  French  empire  who  knew  the 
name  of  Swedenborg.  Madame  de  Stael,  much  aston- 
ished, took  the  book  with  the  bluntness  she  affected  in 
her  questions,  looks,  and  gestures  ;  then,  with  a  sudden 
glance  at  Lambert,  she  said  :  — 

"  Do  you  understand  that?" 

"  Do  you  pray  to  God?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  Why  —  yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  you  comprehend  him  ?  " 


10 


Louis  Lambert. 


Madame  de  Stael  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  she 
sat  down  beside  Lambert  and  began  to  talk  to  him. 
Unfortunately  my  memory,  though  extensive,  is  far  from 
being  as  faithful  as  that  of  my  friend,  and  I  have  for- 
gotten the  conversation  beyond  the  opening  words. 
The  meeting  was  of  a  nature  to  keenly  interest  such  a 
woman  as  Madame  de  Stael.  When  she  reached  home 
she  said  little  about  it,  despite  the  natural  need  of 
expression  which,  with  her,  often  degenerated  into 
loquacity ;  but  she  was  thoughtful  and  preoccupied.  I 
have  questioned  the  only  person  still  living  who  remem- 
bers the  incident,  hoping  to  recover  some  of  Madame 
de  StaeTs  remarks,  but  he  could  only  recall  one  sen- 
tence :  "  He  is  a  Seer,"  she  said,  speaking  of  Lambert. 

Louis  never  justified  to  the  eyes  of  men  the  noble 
hopes  he  inspired  in  his  protectress.  The  passing  inter- 
est which  she  felt  for  him  was  thought  to  be  a  womanly 
caprice,  a  fancy  peculiar  to  the  artistic  nature.  Ma- 
dame de  Stael  desired  to  save  Louis  Lambert  from  the 
Emperor  and  from  the  Church,  and  give  him,  she  said, 
to  the  noble  destiny  that  awaited  him  ;  she  believed 
that  she  had  rescued  a  modern  Moses  from  the  flood. 
Before  leaving  the  neighborhood  she  employed  a  friend, 
M.  de  Corbigny,  then  prefect  of  Blois,  to  put  her  Moses 
in  due  time  into  the  college  of  Vendome  ;  then,  in  all 
probability,  she  forgot  him. 

Entering  college  at  the  beginning  of  1811,  when  he 
was  fourteen,  Lambert  must  have  left  it  at  the  close  of 
1814,  after  finishing  his  course  of  philosophy.  I  doubt 
if  he  ever  received  any  reminder  of  his  benefactress  dur- 


Louis  Lambert. 


11 


ing  those  years  ;  unless  it  be  considered  a  benefit  to  pay 
the  board  and  tuition  of  a  lad  without  considering  his 
future,  after  taking  him  from  a  career  where  he  might 
perhaps  have  found  happiness.  The  circumstances 
of  the  period,  and  Louis  Lambert's  own  nature,  may 
sufficiently  absolve  Madame  de  Stael  both  for  her  care- 
lessness and  her  generosity.  The  person  selected  by 
her  to  act  as  intermediary  in  her  relations  to  the  boy 
-  quitted  Blois  at  the  time  the  latter  left  college.  Politi- 
cal events  then  happening  explained  and  perhaps  justi- 
fied the  indifference  of  this  person  to  Madame  de  StaeTs 
proUgL  The  author  of  "  Corinne  "  heard  no  more  of 
her  little  Moses.  The  hundred  louis  which  she  gave  M. 
de  Corbign}^  (who,  I  think,  died  in  1812)  were  not  a 
sum  to  be  remembered  when  her  lofty  soul  found  its 
element,  and  her  interests  were  keenly  excited  and  in- 
volved in  the  changing  events  of  1814  and  1815.  Louis 
Lambert  was  at  that  time  too  poor,  and  also  too  proud 
to  seek  his  benefactress,  who  was  travelling  in  Europe. 
Nevertheless,  he  did  go  on  foot  from  Blois  to  Paris,  in- 
tending to  see  her  on  her  return,  and  reached  her  house, 
unfortunately,  on  the  very  day  she  died.  Two  letters 
which  he  had  written  to  her  remained  unopened.  The 
recollection  of  her  kind  intentions  toward  Louis  Lam- 
bert now  survives  only  in  the  memory  of  a  few  of  his 
early  comrades  who,  like  myself,  were  struck  from  the 
first  with  the  extraordinary  facts  of  his  history. 

One  must  needs  have  been  a  collegian  at  Vendome  to 
understand  the  effect  produced  upon  our  minds  by  the 
announcement  of  a   "  New-comer,"  and  the  special 


12 


Louis  Lambert, 


impression  whichy  under  the  circumstances,  Louis  Lam- 
bert's arrival  made  upon  us. 

A  few  words  upon  the  primitive  rules  of  our  institu- 
tion, which  was  partly  religious  and  partly  military, 
are  necessary  to  explain  the  life  which  Louis  Lambert 
was  about  to  lead.  The  order  of  the  Oratorians,  vowed 
like  that  of  the  Jesuits  to  the  education  of  youth,  owned 
before  the  Revolution  various  provincial  establishments, 
of  which  the  most  important  were  the  colleges  of  Ven- 
dome,  Tournon,  La  Fleehe,  Pont-le-Voy,  Soreze,  and 
Juilly.  That  of  Vendome,  as  well  as  others,  raised,  I 
think,  a  certain  number  of  cadets  for  the  arnry.  The 
abolition  of  the  teaching  fraternities  decreed  by  the 
Convention  had  very  little  effect  upon  the  Institution 
at  Venclome.  When  the  first  excitement  was  over,  the 
college  recovered  its  buildings  ;  the  Oratorians  who  had 
dispersed  through  the  environs  returned,  and  re-estab- 
lished their  school  under  the  old  rules,  —  preserving  the 
habits  and  manners  and  customs  which  gave  the  college 
a  character  such  as  I  did  not  find  in  any  of  the  lyceums 
which  I  entered  after  leaving  Vendome. 

Standing  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  on  the  little  river 
Loir  which  bathes  the  outer  walls,  the  college  presents 
a  vast  inclosure  carefully  shut  in,  containing  all  the  ap- 
purtenances necessary  to  an  institution  of  its  kind,  — 
a  chapel,  theatre,  infirmary,  bakehouse,  gardens,  and  a 
water-course.  This  college,  the  most  important  educa- 
tional seminary  in  the  middle  provinces,  derives  its 
pupils  from  those  provinces  and  from  the  colonies. 
Distance,  therefore,  prevents  the  parents  from  visiting 


Louis  Lambert. 


13 


their  children  frequently,  and  the  rules  forbid  vacations 
beyond  the  walls.  Once  entered,  the  pupils  never  leave 
the  college  until  their  education  is  completed.  With 
the  exception  of  regular  walks  made  beyond  the  gates 
under  the  guidance  of  the  Fathers,  everything  is  so 
conducted  as  to  gfive  the  institution  the  advantages  of 
conventual  discipline.  In  my  day,  the  "  corrector" 
was  still  a  living  memory,  and  the  classic  brass  ferule 
played  its  terrible  part  with  distinction.  The  punish- 
ments formerly  invented  by  the  Company  of  Jesus  — 
which  were  as  terrifying  to  the  moral  as  to  the  physi- 
cal being  —  remained  in  all  the  integrity  of  their 
early  promulgation.  Letters  to  parents  were  obligatory 
on  certain  da}Ts,  so  was  confession.  Our  sins  and  our 
affections  were  thus  under  strict  rule.  All  things  bore 
the  stamp  of  monastic  uniformity.  I  remember,  among 
other  relics  of  the  old  institution,  the  Sunday  morning 
inspection  to  which  we  were  subjected.  We  were  in 
full  dress,  drawn  up  in  line  like  soldiers,  awaiting  the 
two  directors  who,  followed  by  the  masters  and  the 
the  purveyors,  examined  us  under  the  triple  head  of 
clothes,  health,  and  morality. 

The  two  or  three  hundred  pupils  which  the  college 
was  capable  of  containing  were  divided,  according  to 
the  old  custom,  into  four  sections,  named  the  Minimes, 
the  Petits,  the  Moyens,  and  the  Grands.  The  Min- 
imes  division  contained  the  eighth  and  seventh  classes  ; 
that  of  the  Petits  the  sixth,  fifth,  and  fourth ;  that  of 
Moyens  the  third  and  second ;  and  head  of  all,  the 
Grands,  the  first  class  of  rhetoric,  philosophy,  special 


14 


Louis  Lambert. 


mathematics,  physics,  and  chemistry.  Each  of  these 
divisions  had  a  building  of  its  own,  with  classrooms 
and  courtyard  opening  on  a  wide  common  ground 
which  led  to  the  refectory.  This  refectoiy,  worthy 
of  an  ancient  religious  order,  held  all  the  scholars. 
Contrary  to  the  custom  of  other  educational  bodies, 
we  were  allowed  to  talk  during  meals, — an  Oratorian 
indulgence  which  enabled  us  to  exchange  dishes  ac- 
cording to  our  taste.  This  gastronomic  barter  never 
ceased  to  be  one  of  the  liveliest  pleasures  of  our  college 
life.  If  some  Moyen  sitting  at  the  head  of  his  table 
preferred  a  plate  of  red  peas  to  his  dessert  (we  were 
allowed  a  dessert) ,  the  proposal  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  UA  dessert  for  peas," — until  some  gourmand 
accepted  it ;  the  latter  then  sent  up  his  plate  of  peas 
from  hand  to  hand  until  it  reached  the  proposer,  who 
returned  his  dessert  in  the  same  way.  No  mistake 
ever  occurred.  If  several  proposals  of  the  same  kind 
were  set  going,  each  bore  its  own  number,  and  the  cry 
went  round,  "  First  peas  for  first  dessert."  The  tables 
were  long ;  the  perpetual  traffic  kept  every  one  in  mo- 
tion ;  we  talked  and  ate  and  passed  the  plates  with  sur- 
prising activity.  The  chatter  of  two  or  three  hundred 
lads,  the  coming  and  going  of  the  servants  as  thej^ 
changed  the  plates,  served  the  dishes,  and  dispensed 
the  bread,  and  the  supervision  of  the  directors,  all 
combined  to  make  the  refectoiy  of  Vendome  an  un- 
paralleled sight  of  its  kind,  and  one  which  always 
astonished  visitors. 

To  ameliorate  our  lives,  deprived  as  they  were  of 


Louis  Lambert. 


15 


communication  with  the.  outward  world  and  severed 
from  all  family  pleasures,  the  Fathers  allowed  us  to 
keep  pigeons  and  cultivate  gardens.  Our  two  or  three 
hundred  little  cotes,  and  a  thousand  or  more  pigeons 
perched  on  the  outer  walls  which  surrounded  our  thirty 
gardens,  made  a  sight  even  more  singular  than  our 
dinners  in  the  refectoiy.  But  it  would  take  too  long  to 
relate  the  many  peculiarities  which  made  the  college  of 
Vendome  a  place  apart,  rich  in  recollections  for  those 
whose  youth  was  spent  there.  Which  of  us  does  not 
remember  with  delight,  notwithstanding  our  painful 
pursuit  of  knowledge,  the  occasional  pranks  of  that 
cloistral  life  ?  —  the  dainties  surreptitiously  bought  in  our 
walks  abroad  ;  the  permission  to  play  cards  and  act 
plays  during  the  holidays,  amusements  necessitated  b}^ 
our  solitude ;  then  the  military  music,  a  relic  of  the 
cadets,  our  museum,  our  chaplain,  our  father-profess- 
ors ;  the  particular  games  forbidden  or  allowed ;  the 
long  slides  made  in  winter,  the  clacking  of  our  old- 
fashioned  wooden  clogs,  and  above  all,  the  barter  con- 
tinually going  on  at  the  little  shop  set  up  on  the  common 
ground  near  the  refectory.  This  shop  was  kept  by  a 
sort  of  Maitre  Jacques ;  from  it  the  Grands  and  the 
Petits  were  allowed  to  purchase  at  tariff  prices,  tools, 
boxes,  stilts,  ruffed  and  pouter  pigeons,  prayer-books 
(not  often  in  demand),  pen-knives,  letter-paper,  pens, 
pencils,  ink  of  all  colors,  balls,  marbles, — in  short,  the 
entire  collection  of  boyish  fancies  and  fascinations,  be- 
side other  things,  from  the  sauce  of  the  pigeons  we  were 
forced  to  kill,  to  the  earthernware  jars  in  which  we  kept 


16 


Louis  Lambert. 


the  boiled  rice  of  our  supper  for  the  next  day's  break- 
fast. Can  any  of  us  have  forgotten  the  beating  of  his 
heart  at  the  opening  of  this  shop  during  our  Sunday 
recreations?  how  he  went  to  it,  in  his  turn,  to  spend  the 
sum  allotted  to  him,  —  the  slender  sum  granted  by  our 
parents,  which  compelled  us  to  make  frugal  choice  among 
the  many  objects  which  excited  the  liveliest  desires  in 
our  souls.  The  bride  in  her  honej^moon,  on  whom  the 
husband  bestows  twelve  times  in  the  year  a  purse  of 
gold,  the  welcome  pin-money  for  her  caprices,  never 
dreamed  of  her  various  purchases,  each  one  of  which 
would  absorb  the  whole  sum,  as  we  did  of  ours  on  the 
eve  of  the  first  Sunday  in  the  month.  For  six  francs 
we  possessed,  during  that  one  night,  the  whole  universe 
of  good  things  in  that  inexhaustible  shop.  During  the 
church  services  none  of  us  sang  a  response  that  wras 
not  blended  with  hopes  and  calculations.  Few  indeed 
can  remember  possessing  a  sou  or  two  for  the  second 
Sunday.  And  then,  how  precociously  we  bowed  to 
social  laws  by  pitying,  succoring,  and  despising  those 
pariahs  whom  paternal  avarice  or  poverty  deprived  of 
money  !  Whoever  will  picture  to  himself  the  isolation 
of  this  great  seminary  and  its  monastic  buildings  in  the 
centre  of  a  little  town,  and  the  four  sections  or  parks 
in  wThich  we  were  hierarchically  sequestered,  can  form 
an  idea  of  the  interest  excited  in  our  minds  by  the 
arrival  of  a  u  New-comer,"  —  a  passenger,  as  it  were, 
from  distant  shores.  No  young  duchess  presented  at 
court  for  the  first  time  was  ever  more  maliciously  crit- 
icised than  the  New-comer  by  all  the  scholars  of  his 


Louis  Lambert, 


17 


division.  Usually,  during  the  evening  recreation  and 
before  prayers,  the  toadies,  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
^  talking  with  whichever  of  the  two  Fathers  it  was  whose 
duty  required  him  to  superintend  us  for  a  week,  were 
the  first  to  hear  the  news,  —  u  To-morrow  you  are  to 
have  a  Newcomer."  Immediately  the  cry  arose  and 
echoed  through  the  classrooms,  "A  New-comer!  a 
New-comer !  "  We  all  ran  in  and  clustered  round  the 
regent,  who  was  eagerly  questioned.  "  Where  does  he 
come  from?"  "What  is  his  name?"  "What  class 
will  you  put  him  in  ?  " 

The  arrival  of  Louis  Lambert  was  a  theme  for  a  tale 
worthy  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  I  was  then  in  the 
fourth  class  among  the  JPetits.  We  had  two  masters 
as  regents  to  whom  we  gave  the  traditional  name  of 
"  Fathers,"  though  both  were  laymen.  In  my  day  there 
were  only  three  real  Oratorians  remaining  at  Vendome 
to  whom  the  title  legitimately  belonged.  In  1813  they 
left  the  college,  which  had  then  become  gradually  secu- 
larized, and  retired  to  the  altars  of  parish  churches  and 
country  cures,  like  Lambert's  uncle,  the  curate  of  Mer. 
Father  Haugoult,  the  regent  of  the  week,  was  a  good 
enough  man,  without  any  of  the  higher  forms  of  knowl- 
edge ;  he  had  none  of  the  tact  which  is  so  necessary  to 
discover  the  different  characters  of  boys  and  to  appor- 
tion their  discipline  accordingly. 

Father  Haugoult  was  induced  very  willingly  to  relate 
the  singular  circumstances  which,  on  the  morrow,  were 
to  bring  us  the  most  extraordinary  of  all  New  comers. 
Games  stopped  at  once.    All  the  Petits  crowded  about 

2 


18 


Louis  Lambert. 


him  silently  to  hear  the  tale  of  Louis  Lambert,  found  by 
Madame  de  Stael,  like  an  aerolite,  at  the  corner  of  a 
wood.  Monsieur  Haugoult  explained  to  us  about  Ma- 
dame de  Stael.  During  that  evening  I  imagined  her 
ten  feet  high ;  since  then  I  have  seen  the  picture  of 
Corinne  in  which  Gerard  represents  her  tall  and  beau- 
tiful. Alas,  the  ideal  woman  portrayed  by  my  imagi- 
nation so  far  surpassed  it  that  Madame  de  Stael  fell 
forever  in  my  mind,  even  after  reading  that  vigorous 
and  virile  book  entitled  u  Germany."  But  Lambert  was 
a  marvel  of  another  kind.  After  examining  him,  Mon- 
sieur Mareschal,  the  director  of  studies,  hesitated,  so 
said  Father  Haugoult,  to  put  him  among  the  Grands. 
Louis's  weakness  in  Latin  had  decided  the  director  to 
put  him  in  the  fourth  class,  but  he  would  doubtless  rise 
at  the  rate  of  a  class  a  year ;  and  even  now,  as  an  ex- 
ceptional case,  he  was  to  be  in  the  academy.  Proh 
pudor  !  we  were  to  have  the  honor  of  counting  among 
the  JPetits  a  coat  decorated  with  the  red  ribbon  of  an 
academician  of  Vendome.  Brilliant  privileges  were 
reserved  to  academicians ;  they  often  dined  at  the  di- 
rector's table  ;  twice  a  year  they  held  literary  meetings, 
at  which  we  were  present  to  hear  their  dissertations. 
An  academician  was  a  miniature  great  man.  If  every 
Vendomian  would  tell  the  truth,  he  would  admit  that  in 
later  years  an  academician  of  the  veritable  French 
Academy  seemed  to  him  a  far  less  astounding  person- 
age than  the  colossal  child  decorated  with  the  cross  and 
the  magic  ribbon  of  our  own  academy.  It  was  very 
difficult  to  belong  to  that  august  body  without  reaching 


Louis  Lambert, 


19 


it  through  the  second  section  ;  for  the  academicians 
held  weekly  public  sessions  every  Thursday  during  the 
holida}'s,  at  which  they  read  to  us  tales  in  prose  and 
verse,  epistles,  treatises,  tragedies,  and  comedies  ;  com- 
positions that  were  above  the  minds  of  the  second- 
ary classes.  I  long  remembered  a  certain  tale  entitled 
i^The  Green  Ass,"  which  was,  I  believe,  the  most 
noted  production  of  this  seat  of  learning.  But  a  scholar 
of  the  fourth  class  in  the  academy,  think  of  it !  Among 
us  we  were  to  have  a  child  of  fourteen,  a  poet,  beloved 
of  Madame  de  Stael,  a  future  genius,  —  so  said  Father 
Haugoult,  —  a  wizard  in  knowledge,  a  fellow  capable  of 
writing  a  theme  or  making  a  version  while  the  bell  was 
calling  us  to  recitation ;  a  lad  who  learned  his  les- 
sons by  reading  them  once.  Louis  Lambert  upset  all 
our  ideas.  Moreover,  Father  Haugoult's  own  curiosity 
and  the  eagerness  which  he  showed  to  see  the  New- 
comer still  further  whetted  our  excited  imaginations. 

"  If  he  has  pigeons  there's  no  cote  for  him;  what  a 
pity !  "  said  one  of  us,  who  afterwards  became  a  cele- 
brated agriculturist. 

"  Who  will  sit  next  him?  "  asked  another. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  could  be  his  faisant/"1  cried  an 
enthusiast. 

In  our  college  vocabulary  the  word  faisant  (in  other 
colleges  called  copin)  presents  an  idiom  which  is  diffi- 
cult of  translation.  It  expressed  a  fraternal  sharing  of 
the  good  and  evil  of  our  youthful  lives,  a  community  of 
interests  fruitful  of  quarrels  and  reconciliations,  the 

1  Faisant  and  copin  (or  copain)  are  college  slang  for  "  comrade.'* 


20 


Louis  Lambert 


bond  of  an  alliance  offensive  and  defensive.  And  yet, 
strange  to  say,  I  never  knew  two  brothers  who  were 
faisants.  If  man  lives  only  by  sentiment,  perhaps  he 
thinks  he  impoverishes  existence  by  mingling  an  affec- 
tion he  has  won  with  his  natural  affections. 

The  impression  which  Father  Haugoult's  remarks 
made  upon  me  that  evening  is  among  the  most  vivid 
of  my  youth  ;  I  can  only  compare  it  with  the  reading  of 
Robinson  Crusoe.  Later  on,  I  owed  to  the  memory  of 
these  strong  impressions  a  reflection,  new  perhaps,  on 
the  different  effects  produced  by  words  in  their  several 
meanings.  There  is  nothing  absolute  in  a  word  ;  we 
act  upon  it  more  than  it  can  act  on  us  ;  its  force  depends 
on  the  images  we  have  acquired  and  which  we  group 
about  it.  However,  the  study  of  this  phenomenon  re- 
quires wide  elaboration,  which  would  be  out  of  place 
here. 

That  night,  being  unable  to  sleep,  I  had  a  long  discus- 
sion with  my  neighbor  in  the  dormitory  on  the  extraor- 
dinary being  we  were  to  have  among  us  on  the  morrow. 
This  neighbor,  subsequently  an  officer,  now  a  writer  on 
the  higher  questions  of  philosophy,  named  Barchou  de 
Penhoen,  has  not  failed  to  fulfil  his  own  good  promise, 
and  to  justify  the  chance  that  united  in  the  same  class, 
on  the  same  bench,  under  the  same  roof,  the  only  two 
pupils  of  Venddme  who  are  publicly  known  at  the  present 
day ;  for  up  to  the  date  at  which  this  book  is  published 
our  comrade  Dufaure  has  not  entered  parliamentary  life. 
But  at  the  period  of  which  I  write  the  recent  translator 
of  Fichte,  the  interpreter  and  friend  of  Ballanche,  was 


Louis  Lambert. 


21 


already  concerned  as  I  was  with  metaphysical  questions  ; 
often  we  rhapsodized  about  God,  Nature,  and  our  own 
being.    He  leaned  towards  scepticism.    Desirous  of 
maintaining  such  views  he  denied  the  possibility  of 
Lambert's  great  faculties  ;  whereas  I,  having  lately  read 
y"Les  Enfants  celebres,"  crushed  him  with  such  proofs 
as  Montcalm,  Pic  de  la  Mirandola,  Pascal,  and  other 
precocious  brains,  —  anomalies  forever  celebrated  in  the 
history  of  the  human  mind,  the  precursors  of  Louis 
Lambert.    I  was  myself  passionately  devoted  to  reading. 
Thanks  to  my  father's  desire  to  see  me  in  the  Ecole 
Polytechnique,  I  took  private  lessons  in  mathematics. 
My  tutor,  the  college  librarian,  allowed  me  to  take  such 
books  as  I  pleased,  paying  little  attention  to  those  I 
carried  out  of  the  library;  a  tranquil  retreat  where, 
during  the  hours  of  recreation,  he  made  me  go  for  my 
lessons.    1  think  he  was  either  unfitted  to  be  a  tutor, 
or  much  preoccupied  by  some  serious  undertaking,  for 
he  very  willingly  allowed  me  to  read  instead  of  reciting 
while  he  busied  himself  in  other  ways.    So,  in  virtue  of 
a  tacit  compact  which  grew  up  between  us,  I  made  no 
complaint  because  I  learned  nothing,  and  he  took  no 
notice  of  the  books  I  borrowed  from  the  library.  Car- 
ried away  by  this  ill-timed  passion,  I  neglected  my 
studies  and  composed  poems  which  certainly  gave  little 
promise  of  future  greatness,  if  I  may  judge  by  this  un- 
wieldy line,  famous  among  my  comrades,  which  began 
an  epic  on  "  The  Incas  :  "  — 

4 4  Oh,  Inca !    O  king  unfortunate  and  miserable  !  " 
I  was  nicknamed  "the  Poet"  in  derision  of  this  per- 


22 


Louis  Lambert. 


formance,  but  ridicule  did  not  repress  me.  I  continued 
to  scribble  sorry  verses  in  spite  of  Monsieur  Mareschal 
our  director's  good  advice  ;  he  tried  to  cure  my  inveter- 
ate propensity  by  telling  me  the  fable  of  the  fledgling 
which  fell  out  its  nest  into  many  troubles  because  it 
tried  to  fly  before  its  wings  had  grown.  I  persisted  in 
my  desultory  reading  and  became  the  least  assiduous, 
the  laziest,  dreamiest  pupil  in  the  whole  division  of  the 
Petits,  and  of  course  the  oftenest  punished.  This 
autobiographic  digression  will  show  the  reader  the  nature 
of  the  thoughts  that  took  possession  of  me  on  the  arrival 
of  Lambert.  I  was  then  twelve  years  old.  From  the 
first,  I  felt  a  keen  sympathy  for  a  child  with  whom  I 
had  a  certain  likeness  of  temperament.  I  was  about  to 
obtain  a  companion  in  revery  and  meditation.  Without 
knowing  as  yet  what  glory  was,  I  thought  it  glorious  to 
be  the  comrade  of  a  youth  whose  immortality  wTas  fore- 
told by  Madame  de  Stael.  To  my  eyes  Louis  Lambert 
was  a  giant. 

The  looked-for  morrow  came.  Just  before  break- 
fast we  heard  the  double  tread  of  Monsieur  Mareschal 
and  the  New-comer  sounding  in  the  silent  courtyard. 
All  heads  turned  to  the  door  of  the  classroom.  Father 
Haugoult,  who  shared  our  agony  of  expectation,  did 
not  utter  the  usual  uhush"  with  which  he  silenced  our 
whisperings  and  recalled  us  to  work.  We  beheld  the 
New-comer,  whom  Monsieur  Mareschal  led  in  by  the 
hand.  The  regent  stepped  down  from  his  seat,  and 
the  director  said  to  him  with  solemnity,  according  to 
the  formal  custom:  "  Monsieur,  I  bring  you  Mon- 


Louis  Lambert. 


23 


sieur  Louis  Lambert ;  you  will  put  him  in  the  fourth 
class ;  he  will  begin  his  duties  to-morrow."  Then, 
after  a  few  words  in  a  low  voice  to  the  regent,  he 
said  aloud,  "Where  will  you  seat  him?"  It  would 
have  been  unjust  to  move  any  of  us  for  a  New-comer, 
and  there  being  but  one  vacant  desk,  next  to  mine,  I 
being  the  last  pupil  who  had  entered  college,  Louis 
Lambert  was  sent  to  occupy  it.  Although  the  lessons 
were  not  over,  we  all  rose  to  look  at  him.  Monsieur 
Mareschal  heard  our  whisperings,  noticed  the  insubor- 
dination, and  said,  with  the  kindness  that  made  him 
particularly  dear  to  us :  "  At  any  rate  be  good,  and 
don't  disturb  the  other  classes." 

The  words  virtually  gave  us  a  holiday  until  break- 
fast time ;  and  we  all  clustered  round  Lambert,  while 
the  director  took  a  turn  in  the  yard  with  Father  Hau- 
goult.  We  were  eighty  young  devils  as  bold  as  birds 
of  prey.  Though  we  had  all  passed  the  same  cruel 
ordeal,  we  never  dreamed  of  sparing  a  New-comer  the 
satirical  jokes,  the  questions,  the  insolence,  which  are 
brought  into  play  on  such  occasions,  to  the  great  con- 
fusion of  the  neophyte,  whose  nature,  manners,  and 
force  of  character  are  thus  tested.  Lambert,  who  was 
either  calm  or  dumbfounded,  made  no  reply.  One  of 
us  then  remarked  that  he  no  doubt  came  from  the 
School  of  Pythagoras.  This  excited  a  general  laugh. 
The  New-comer  was  thenceforth  nicknamed  Pythagoras 
for  the  rest  of  his  college  life.  Nevertheless,  Lambert's 
piercing  glance,  the  indifference  expressed  on  his  face 
for  our  boyish  nonsense,  so  out  of  keeping  with  the 


24 


Louis  Lambert. 


nature  of  his  own  mind,  the  easy  attitude  he  main- 
tained, and  his  obvious  physical  strength,  which  was 
fully  that  of  his  years,  impressed  the  most  audacious  of 
the  young  scamps  among  us  with  a  feeling  of  respect. 
As  for  me,  I  wTas  close  beside  him,  busy  in  silently 
examining  him. 

Louis  was  a  thin,  slight  lad  about  four  feet  six 
inches  in  height ;  his  tanned  face  and  sunburnt  hands 
gave  the  idea  of  a  muscular  vigor  which  did  not  nat- 
urally belong  to  him ;  and  it  therefore  happened  that 
two  months  after  his  entrance  at  college,  life  in  the 
classrooms  had  made  him  lose  his  healthy  color  and, 
little  by  little,  he  grew  pale  and  white  as  a  woman. 
His  head  was  of  remarkable  size.  His  hair,  black  and 
curling  in  heavy  masses,  gave  an  inexpressible  charm 
to  his  brow,  the  dimensions  of  which  were  extraordi- 
nary even  to  our  boyish  minds,  unobservant,  as  may 
well  be  supposed,  of  phrenological  signs,  the  science  of 
phrenology  being  then  in  its  infancy.  The  beauty  of  that 
prophetic  forehead  came  chiefly  from  the  pure  lines  of 
the  double  arch  of  the  brows,  beneath  which  the  dark 
eyes  shone  as  if  from  a  setting  of  alabaster  ;  these  brows 
had  the  rare  attraction  of  being  perfectly  parallel,  start- 
ing on  a  line  with  each  other  at  the  spring  of  the  nose. 
It  was,  however,  difficult  to  think  of  his  face,  which  was 
otherwise  very  irregular,  in  presence  of  eyes  whose  glance 
possessed  a  magnificent  variety  of  expression,  seeming, 
as  it  were,  lined  with  the  spirit.  Sometimes  clear  and 
wonderfully  penetrating,  at  other  times  of  heavenly 
sweetness,  the  eyes  grew  dull,  deadened,  colorless, 


Louis  Lambert. 


25 


when  he  yielded  himself  up  to  contemplation.  At 
such  times  they  were  like  window-panes  from  which 
the  sun  is  suddenly  withdrawn  after  illuminating  them. 
It  was  the  same  with  his  physical  vigor  and  organism 
/  as  with  his  glance,  —  the  same  immobility,  the  same 
capricious  changes.    His  voice  was  sweet  as  a  woman's 
when  she  owns  her  love ;  then  again  it  could  be  harsh, 
strained,  untrue,  if  it  be  allowable  to  use  these  terms  to 
express  unusual  effects.    As  to  his  physical  strength, 
he  was  habitually  unable  to  bear  the  fatigue  of  our  boy- 
ish games,  and  seemed  weak,  at  times  almost  infirm. 
But,  during  the  days  of  his  novitiate  as  a  New-comer, 
one  of  our  bullies  having  laughed  at  the  sickly  delicacy 
which  made  him  unfit  for  the  violent  exercises  in  vogue 
among  us,  Lambert  seized  with  both  hands  the  end  of 
one  of  the  tables  to  which  were  fastened  twelve  heavy 
desks  ranged  opposite  to  each  other;  then  leaning 
against  the  regent's  rostrum  he  placed  his  feet  on  the 
transversal  lower  bar  of  the  table  and  said:  "  Ten  of 
you  may  try  to  move  it."    It  was  impossible  to  tear 
the  table  from  him.    I  was  present;  and  I  can  testify 
to  this  extraordinary  display  of  strength.  Lambert 
possessed  the  gift  of  calling  up,  at  certain  moments, 
extraordinary  powers,  and  of  concentrating  them  on  a 
given  point.    But  the  college  lads,  accustomed  like 
men  to  judge  everything  according  to  first  impressions, 
studied  Louis  Lambert  only  during  the  first  few  days 
that  succeeded  his  arrival,  and  then  he  certainly  belied 
all  Madame  de  StaeTs  predictions,  and  performed  none 
of  the  prodigies  we  expected  of  him. 


26 


Louis  Lambert. 


After  a  three  months'  trial,  Louis  Lambert  was  pro- 
nounced a  very  ordinary  scholar.  I  alone  was  allowed 
to  penetrate  that  sublime  —  why  should  I  not  say  it?  — 
that  divine  soul.  Can  there  be  anything  nearer  to  God 
than  genius  in  the  heart  of  a  child?  The  agreement  of 
our  tastes  and  of  our  thoughts  made  us  friends  and 
faisants.  Our  intimacy  grew  so  close  that  the  other 
lads  coupled  our  names ;  one  was  never  mentioned 
without  the  other,  and  if  either  of  us  had  to  be  called, 
the  cry  was  always  "  Poet-and-Pythagoras  !  "  There 
were  other  names  among  us  thus  joined  in  wedlock. 

So  it  happened  that  I  was  for  two  years  the  college 
friend  and  brother  of  poor  Louis  Lambert,  and  my  life 
duriug  that  period  was  so  closely  welded  to  his  that 
I  am  to-day  able  to  write  the  history  of  his  mind. 
Yet  I  was  long  ignorant  of  the  poetry  and  the  intellec- 
tual wealth  hidden  in  the  heart  and  beneath  the  brow 
of  my  companion.  I  was  thirty  years  old  before  my  ob- 
servations of  him  ripened  and,  as  it  were,  crystallized,  — 
before  a  stream  of  steady  light  illumined  them  afresh  in 
my  mind,  and  enabled  me  to  understand  the  full  mean- 
ing of  phenomena  to  which  I  had  been  an  immature 
witness.  I  had  followed  them  without  explaining  to 
myself  their  grandeur  nor  yet  their  mechanism ;  I  had 
even  forgotten  some  and  remembered  only  the  most 
striking.  But  to-day  my  memory  is  able  to  reassemble 
and  bring  them  into  order;  I  am  initiated  into  the 
secrets  of  that  fruitful  brain  as  I  now  look  back  to  the 
happy  days  of  our  young  friendship.  Time  alone  has 
enabled  me  to  penetrate  the  meaning  of  the  facts  and 


Louis  Lambert. 


27 


events  which  filled  that  hidden  life,  as  they  fill  that 
of  so  many  other  men  who  are  lost  to  science  and  hu- 
man knowledge.  This  history  will  therefore  be,  both  in 
the  representation  and  in  the  estimate  of  things,  full 
of  anachronisms,  which  are,  however,  purely  moral,  and 
will  not  injure  the  tale  in  its  own  point  of  interest. 

During  the  first  months  of  his  life  at  Vendome,  Louis 
was  the  victim  of  a  malady,  the  symptoms  of  which 
were  imperceptible  to  our  superiors,  which  necessarily 
hindered  the  exercise  of  his  higher  faculties.  Accus- 
tomed to  the  open  air,  to  the  independence  of  his 
hitherto  chance  education  ;  tenderly  cared  for  by  the 
old  uncle  who  loved  him ;  thinking  and  dreaming  in 
the  sunshine,  — it  was  very  hard  for  him  to  bow  to  col- 
lege rules,  to  walk  in  the  ranks,  to  live  within  the  four 
walls  of  a  room  where  eighty  lads  were  forced  to  sit 
silently  on  wooden  stools,  erect  before  their  desks.  His 
senses  were  endowed  with  a  perfection  which  gave 
them  exquisite  delicacy,  and  everything  within  him 
suffered  from  this  community  of  life.  The  exhalations 
which  poisoned  the  air  and  mingled  with  the  odors  of  a 
classroom  which  was  always  dirty  and  littered  with 
fragments  of  breakfast  or  luncheon,  affected  his  sens-e 
of  smell,  —  a  sense  in  closer  relation  than  any  other  to 
the  cerebral  system,  and  which  if  vitiated  must  cause 
invisible  disturbance  to  the  organs  of  thought. 

Besides  these  sources  of  atmospheric  corruption,  there 
were  closets  in  the  classrooms  where  we  kept  the  pi- 
geons which  were  killed  for  feast-days,  or  hid  provisions 
filched  from  the  refectory.    Moreover,  each  hall  con- 


28 


Louis  Lambert. 


tainecl  an  immense  stone  on  which  stood,  at  all  hours, 
two  pails  full  of  water,  —  a  species  of  watering-trough 
where  every  morning  we  were  made  to  wash  our  faces 
and  hands  in  presence  of  a  master.  From  there  we 
went  to  a  table  where  the  women-servants  combed  our 
hair  and  powdered  it.  The  classrooms  were  cleaned 
only  once  a  day,  in  the  mornings  before  we  were 
up  ;  consequently  they  were  always  dirty  ;  and  in  spite 
of  the  many  windows  and  the  height  of  the  doors,  the 
air  was  constantly  poisoned  by  the  emanations  from  the 
wash-pails,  the  smells  from  the  closets,  the  thousand 
and  one  pursuits  of  the  scholars,  not  to  speak  of  their 
eighty  bodies  crowded  together.  This  sort  of  collegial 
humus,  mingling  with  mud  which  our  feet  brought  in 
from  the  courtyards,  made  an  atmosphere  of  intolerable 
fetor. 

The  loss  of  the  pure  country  air  which  he  had  hitherto 
breathed,  the  change  in  his  habits,  the  discipline  of  the 
college,  all  combined  to  depress  Lambert's  vitality. 
With  his  head  leaning  on  his  left  hand,  the  elbow  rest- 
ing on  the  desk,  he  passed  hours  gazing  into  the  court- 
yard, at  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  or  the  clouds  of  the  sky  ; 
he  seemed  to  be  studying  his  lessons,  but  the  regent, 
seeing  the  motionless  pen  and  the  blank  page,  would 
frequently  cry  out,  "You  are  doing  nothing,  Lambert !  " 
That  fatal  44  You  are  doing  nothing;"  was  like  a  pin 
pricking  into  Louis's  heart.  He  had  no  leisure  for  recre- 
ation because  of  the  "  pensums  "  he  was  forced  to  write. 
The  pensum,  a  punishment  whose  nature  varies  accord- 
ing to  the  customs  of  different  colleges,  consisted  at 


Louis  Lambert. 


29 


Vendome  of  a  number  of  lines  to  be  copied  during 
recess.  Lambert  and  I  were  so  overloaded  with  pen- 
sums  that  we  did  not  have  six  free  days  during  our  two 
years'  intimacy.  Without  the  books  which  we  got  from 
the  library,  which  kept  life  in  our  brains,  these  condi- 
tions of  existence  would  have  driven  us  both  into  dull 
brutishness.  The  loss  of  wholesome  exercise  is  fatal 
to  children.  The  habit  of  always  acting  a  part,  when 
acquired  in  early  life,  is  said  to  injure  the  constitution 
of  royal  personages,  if  that  vice  of  their  destiny  is  not 
corrected  by  the  manners  and  customs  of  a  campaign 
or  the  freedom  of  the  hunting-field.  If  the  rules  of  eti- 
quette and  of  courts  can  affect  the  spinal  marrow  to 
the  point  of  feminizing  the  pelvis  of  kings,  softening 
cerebral  fibres,  and  thus  debasing  the  race,  what  deep 
lesions,  both  physical  and  moral,  must  a  continual 
deprivation  of  fresh  air,  motion,  and  gayety  produce 
among  the  pupils  of  a  public  institution?  The  cloistral 
regime  of  colleges  and  seminaries  demands  the  atten- 
tion of  the  authorities  charged  with  the  management  of 
public  instruction,  if  any  such  be  found  who  do  not 
think  exclusively  of  themselves. 

Louis  and  I  brought  pensums  upon  us  in  a  hundred 
ways.  Our  memories  were  so  good  that  we  never 
studied  onr  lessons.  It  sufficed  to  hear  our  comrades 
reciting  portions  of  French,  Latin,  or  even  grammar ; 
we  could  always  repeat  them  when  our  turn  came  ;  but 
if,  by  ill-luck,  the  master  reversed  the  order  and  ques- 
tioned us  first,  we  often  did  not  even  know  what  the 
lesson  was;  then  followed  a  pensum,  in  spite  of  our 


30 


Louis  Lambert. 


ingenious  excuses.  We  always  waited  till  the  last  mo- 
ment to  write  our  themes.  If  we  had  a  book  to  finish, 
or  a  re  very  to  pursue,  the  theme  was  neglected  ;  fruitful 
source  of  pensums  !  Many  a  time  our  versions  were 
written  during  the  time  when  the  head  of  the  class, 
charged  with  the  duty  of  collecting  them,  was  receiving 
the  papers  from  the  various  scholars. 

To  the  moral  difficulties  which  Lambert  encountered 
before  he  was  acclimated  to  the  college,  was  added 
another  apprenticeship  not  less  harsh,  and  through 
which  we  all  had  to  pass, — that  of  plrysical  suffering, 
which  assailed  us  in  various  ways.  The  delicate  skin 
of  childhood  requires  extreme  care,  especially  in  winter, 
when  schoolbo3's  exchange  at  all  hours  the  hot  tempera- 
ture of  classrooms  for  the  icy  or  muddy  atmosphere  of 
the  courtyards.  For  want  of  motherly  home-care  the 
Petits  and  the  Minimes  were  covered  with  chilblains 
and  painful  chapped  skins,  which  they  were  forced  to 
have  dressed  during  the  breakfast-hour,  though  it  was 
very  imperfectly  done  by  reason  of  the  great  number  of 
suffering  fingers,  toes,  and  heels  that  needed  curing.  In 
fact,  many  of  the  lads  preferred  the  evil  to  the  remedy ; 
they  had  to  choose  between  finishing  their  themes,  los- 
ing the  delights  of  sliding  on  the  ice,  and  the  necessit}r 
of  taking  off  parts  of  their  clothing  carelessly  put  on  and 
still  more  carelessly  worn.  Besides,  it  was  the  college 
custom  to  laugh  at  those  who  went  to  have  their  wounds 
dressed,  and  it  was  an  object  to  get  rid  of  the  rags 
which  the  hospital  nurse  wound  round  the  suffering  ex- 
tremities ;  consequently,  in  winter,  man}'  of  us,  whose 


Louis  Lambert. 


31 


hands  and  feet  were  half-dead  or  burning  with  pain,  were 
little  disposed  to  work,  and  were  punished  because  they 
did  not  work.  The  Fathers,  too  often  taken  in  by  sham 
illness,  paid  little  attention  to  these  real  sufferings. 
Except  for  the  costs  of  their  board,  the  pupils  were 
maintained  at  the  expense  of  the  college.  The  authori- 
ties were  careful  in  the  matter  of  shoes  and  clothing : 
hence  the  weekly  inspection  which  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, —  excellent  for  the  administration,  sad  in  its 
results  (as  such  customs  always  are)  for  the  governed. 
Woe  to  the  Petit  who  acquired  the  evil  habit  of  treading 
his  shoes  down  at  heel,  splitting  the  leather,  or  wearing 
out  the  soles  prematurely,  either  by  clumsy  walking  or 
by  kicking  his  feet  about  in  school  to  satisfy  that  need 
of  action  which  besets  all  children. 

During  the  winter  Lambert  never  went  to  walk  with- 
out enduring  the  keenest  suffering.  In  the  first  place, 
the  pain  of  his  chilblains  was  like  a  bad  attack  of  gout ; 
then  the  hooks  and  strings  which  held  his  shoes  together 
would  break,  or  the  slip-shod  heels  prevented  those 
tormenting  articles  from  staying  firmly  on  his  feet,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  drag  them  along  the  icy  paths,  for- 
tunate if  the  clay  soil  of  the  Vendomois  left  them  on 
his  feet.  Worse  still,  the  water  or  the  snow  would  get 
to  his  toes  through  some  unseen  rip,  and  the  foot  would 
begin  to  swell.  Out  of  sixty  boys  scarcely  ten  went  to 
walk  without  enduring  some  such  torture.  Yet  we 
all  followed  our  leaders,  carried  along  by  the  general 
movement,  just  as  men  are  driven  in  life  by  life  itself. 
Many  a  time  some  gallant  child  has  wept  with  fury 


32 


Louis  Lambert. 


while  summoning  his  courage,  first  to  go  forward,  and 
then  to  get  back  to  the  fold  in  spite  of  his  pains  ;  so 
keenly  does  the  young  soul  dread  both  laughter  and 
compassion,  —  equally  forms  of  ridicule.  In  college,  as 
in  social  life,  the  strong  despise  the  weak  without  know- 
ing in  what  true  strength  consists. 

But  this  was  not  all.  No  gloves  were  allowed.  If 
by  chance  our  parents,  the  hospital  nurse,  or  the  di- 
rector ordered  us  to  wear  them,  the  practical  jokers 
and  the  upper-class  fellows  seized  and  put  them  on 
the  stoves,  pretending  to  dry  them,  and  thus  shrivelled 
them  up.  If  the  gloves  escaped  this  seizure,  they 
remained  wet,  and  shrank  in  the  drying  for  want  of 
proper  care.  Gloves  were  therefore  an  impossibility. 
Besides,  they  presupposed  a  privilege,  and  lads  choose 
to  be  equals. 

These  various  forms  of  suffering  assailed  Louis  Lam- 
bert. Like  contemplative  men,  who  in  the  stillness  of 
their  re  very  contract  a.  habit  of  mechanical  movement, 
he  had  a  mania  for  scuffling  with  his  shoes,  which  were 
soon  worn  out.  His  feminine  skin  and  his  delicate  lips 
and  ears  were  chapped  at  the  first  frost.  His  soft 
white  hands  became  numb  and  red.  He  was  constantly 
taking  cold.  In  short,  he  was  enveloped  in  suffering 
until  he  grew  somewhat  accustomed  to  Vendome  hab- 
its and  learned  by  cruel  experience  to  "look  out  for 
himself,"  —  if  I  may  use  that  collegiate  expression. 
He  was  forced  to  take  care  of  his  closet,  his  desk, 
his  clothes,  his  shoes ;  he  had  to  see  that  his  ink  was 
not  stolen,  nor  his  books,  copy-books,  or  pens;  in 


Louis  Lambert. 


33 


short,  to  think  of  all  the  details  of  our  boyish  lives 
which  the  selfish  and  commonplace  lads,  who  inva- 
riably carried  off  the  prizes  for  excellence  and  good 
conduct,  attended  to  with  conscientious  care,  while  he, 
the  boy  of  promise,  neglected  them  and  abandoned 
himself  with  passion  to  the  stream  of  his  thoughts,  be- 
neath the  spell  of  an  imagination  that  was  almost 
divine. 

But  this  was  not  all.  A  ceaseless  struggle  goes  on  be- 
tween masters  and  scholars,  to  which  nothing  in  social 
life  can  be  compared,  unless  it  be  the  warfare  of  the  op- 
position against  the  ministry  of  a  representative  govern- 
ment. But  the  journalists  and  orators  of  an  opposition 
are  less  prompt  to  profit  by  an  advantage,  less  stern  in 
resenting  a  wrong,  less  bitter  in  their  ridicule,  than  the 
lads  of  a  seminary  against  the  masters  appointed  to 
rule  them.  Angels  would  lose  patience  in  such  a  call- 
ing. We  must  not  be  too  severe  to  a  poor  school- 
master, ill-paid  and  not  over  wise,  if  he  is  sometimes 
unjust  and  angry.  Watched  perpetually  by  mocking 
eyes,  surrounded  by  pitfalls,  he  does  sometimes  avenge 
himself  on  the  boys  b}T  a  harshness  they  are  only  too 
ready  to  proclaim.  Except  in  the  case  of  great  wrong- 
doing, for  -which  there  were  special  punishments,  the 
ferule  was  the  ultima  ratio  Patrum  at  Vendome.  For 
neglected  themes,  lessons  ill-learned,  and  vulgar  pranks, 
the  pensum  sufficed  ;  but  a  wound  to  the  master's  self- 
love  was  visited  with  the  ferule.  Among  the  physical 
sufferings  which  we  endured  the  keenest  was  certainly 
that  inflicted  by  the  strip  of  leather,  two  fingers  thick, 

3 


34 


Louis  Lambert. 


applied  to  our  shrinking  hands  with  all  the  strength  of 
an  angry  master.  The  culprit  was  compelled  to  kneel 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  to  receive  this  classic  punish- 
ment. He  was  forced  to  rise  from  his  seat,  walk  to  the 
master's  desk  and  kneel  down,  exposed  to  the  inquisi- 
tive, often  jeering,  glances  of  his  comrades.  To  a 
sensitive  spirit  these  preparations  were  an  additional 
torture,  like  the  transit  from  the  Palais  to  the  Greve 
which  prisoners  condemned  to  death  were  formerly 
compelled  to  make.  According  to  their  natures  some 
lads  wept,  before  or  after  the  punishment ;  others  ac- 
cepted their  pain  stoically ;  and  yet,  while  awaiting  it, 
the  bravest  could  scarcely  repress  the  quivering  of  their 
features. 

Louis  Lambert  was  frequently  subjected  to  this  pun- 
ishment, and  he  owed  it  to  a  faculty  of  his  nature  of 
which  he  was  long  unconscious.  When  suddenly  awak- 
ened from  meditation  by  the  regent's  stern  "  You  are 
doing  nothing,  Lambert ! "  it  often  happened  that  with- 
out his  own  knowledge  he  would  give  the  master  a  look 
of  irrepressible  disdain,  charged  with  thought  as  a 
Leyden  jar  is  charged  with  electricity.  Such  a  glance 
naturally  angered  the  regent ;  provoked  by  the  silent 
epigram,  he  proceeded  to  teach  a  lesson  to  that  fulmi- 
nating eye.  The  first  time  he  was  aware  of  the  dis- 
dainful gleam,  which  struck  him  like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
he  made  the  following  speech  which  I  have  always 
remembered:  "If  you  look  at  me  again  in  that  way, 
Lambert,  I  shall  give  you  the  ferule."  At  these  words 
every  head  went  up,  and  all  eyes  watched  the  master 


Louis  Lambert. 


35 


and  Louis.  The  speech  was  so  absurd  that  again  the 
boy's  glance  struck  the  Father  like  lightning.  From 
tl^at  time  forth  there  was  a  feud  between  the  regent 
and  Lambert  which  resulted  in  many  applications  of 
the  ferule.  Louis  thus  became  aware  of  the  oppressive 
power  of  his  eye. 

This  poor  poet,  so  nervously  constituted,  often  as 
languishing  as  a  woman,  the  victim  of  chronic  melan- 
choly, sick  with  his  own  genius  as  a  young  girl  with 
the  love  she  seeks  and  yet  knows  nothing  of;  this 
child,  so  strong  and  yet  so  feeble,  transplanted  by 
Corinne  from  his  native  meadows,  and  forced  into  the 
soil  of  a  college  where  every  mind  and  every  body,  no 
matter  what  its  natural  bent  ^ncl  temperament,  must 
adapt  itself  to  a  common  rule,  as  gold  is  shaped  into 
the  circumference  of  a  coin  by  machinery,  —  Louis 
Lambert  suffered  at  every  point  where  pain  could  seize 
upon  flesh  or  spirit.  Chained  to  a  bench  and  a  desk, 
beaten  with  that  leathern  thong,  smitten  with  an  illness 
that  affected  all  his  senses,  crushed  by  a  procession  of 
evils,  what  could  he  do  but  passively  yield  his  outer 
being  to  the  various  tyrannies  of  his  college  life.  Like 
martyrs  who  smile  at  the  stake,  he  escaped  to  the  heaven 
which  thought  opened  to  him.  Perhaps  this  inward  life 
helped  him  to  foreknow  the  mysteries  in  which  he  had 
so  much  faith. 

Our  private  independence,  our  illicit  occupations,  the 
apparent  indolence  and  torpidity  in  which  we  both  lived, 
our  repeated  punishments,  our  repugnance  to  themes 
and  pensnms,  gave  us  the  unchallenged  reputation  of 


36 


Louis  Lambert. 


being  shameless  and  incorrigible.  Our  masters  despised 
us,  and  we  fell  equally  under  the  ban  of  our  school- 
mates, from  whom  we  hid  our  contraband  studies  in 
dread  of  ridicule.  This  double  disapproval,  unjust  as 
it  was  from  the  masters,  was  .  natural  in  our  comrades. 
Louis  and  I  could  neither  play  at  ball,  nor  run,  nor  walk 
on  stilts.  On  the  "  amnesty  days,"  or  when,  by  chance, 
we  were  free  of  pensums,  we  shared  none  of  the  prevail- 
ing amusements.  We  sat  apart  under  a  tree  in  the 
courtyard,  aloof  from  the  games  which  went  on  about  us. 
The  Poet-ancl-P3Tthagoras  were  exceptional  beings,  — 
they  lived  outside  of  the  common  life.  The  keen  instinct 
and  sensitive  self-love  of  youth  made  the  other  scholars 
aware  that  our  minds  were  in  some  way  either  higher 
or  lower  than  their  own.  Out  of  this  perception  grew 
hatred  on  the  part  of  some  to  our  silent  aristocracy,  con- 
tempt for  our  perfect  uselessness  on  the  part  of  others. 
These  feelings,  however,  were  unknown  to  us  at  the 
time ;  perhaps  I  have  011I3-  divined  them  as  I  now  write. 
We  lived  like  a  pair  of  rats  lurking  in  the  corner  of  the 
classroom  which  held  our  desks,  through  the  recreation- 
hours  as  well  as  the  study-hours.  This  eccentric  pro- 
ceeding was  calculated  to  put  us,  and  did  put  us,  at  war 
with  the  other  lads  of  our  division.  Forgotten,  as  a 
general  thing,  we  lived  quietly  and  half-happily  in  our 
retreat,  like  two  forms  of  vegetation  or  two  bits  of  orna- 
ment which  would  otherwise  have  been  missing  to  the 
classroom.  But  occasionally  the  more  provoking  of  our 
comrades  insulted  us  for  the  mere  love  of  exhibiting 
their  power ;  to  which  we  responded  with  a  bitter  con- 


Louis  Lambert, 


37 


tempt  which  brought  a  rain  of  blows  on  the  Poet-and- 
Py^thagoras. 

Lambert's  nostalgia  lasted  several  months.   I  am  un- 
able to  picture  the  melancholy  to  which  he  fell  a  prey. 
Many  an  attempt  has  proved  a  failure.     Having  each 
of  us  played  the  part  of  the  "  Leper  of  Aosta"  we  both 
knew  the  emotions  Monsieur  de  Maistre  has  described  in 
that  book  before  they  were  written  by  his  eloquent  pen. 
Now  a  book  may  recall  the  memories  of  childhood,  but 
it  never  surpasses  nor  equals  them.    Lambert's  sorrows 
taught  me  hymns  of  grief  that  were  more  impressive  far 
than  Werther's  finest  pages.    But  perhaps  there  is  no 
comparison  possible  between  the  suffering  inflicted  by 
the  repression  of  a  passion  under  social  laws  and  the 
sorrows  of  a  child  longing  for  the  glory  of  the  sun,  for 
the  dew  of  the  valleys,  and  for  freedom.    Werther  was 
the  slave  of  a  desire  ;  but  Lambert  was  a  soul  enslaved. 
Where  gifts  are  equal,  the  feelings  based  upon  the 
simpler  and  truer  desires,  truer  because  purer,  must  sur- 
pass the  lamentations  of  genius.    After  gazing  for  hours 
at  the  foliage  of  the  trees  in  the  courtyard  Louis  would 
turn  to  me  and  utter  some  thought ;  but  that  thought 
revealed  a  far-reaching  revery. 

u  Happily  for  me,"  he  said  one  day,  "  there  come  joy- 
ful moments  when  the  walls  of  the  classroom  disappear, 
and  I  am  away  —  in  the  meadows.  What  delight  to 
float  upon  thought  as  a  bird  upon  its  wing." 

u  Why  is  nature  so  prodigal  of  the  color  green?"  he 
asked  me  at  another  time.  "  How  is  it  she  allows  so 
few  straight  lines?    Why  does  man,  in  his  creations, 


38 


Louis  Lambert. 


seldom  use  curves?  Why  should  he  alone  have  the 
sentiment  of  straight  lines  ?  " 

Sayings  like  these  revealed  the  soaring  of  his  mind 
through  space.  Surely,  he  had  scanned  the  scenery  of 
many  regions  or  breathed  the  perfume  of  the  woods  and 
forests.  Sublime  and  living  elegy  that  he  was,  he  was 
ever  silent  and  resigned,  — always  suffering,  yet  unable 
to  say,  "I  suffer!"  An  eagle,  hovering  above  the 
worlds  in  search  of  food,  he  was  hemmed  in  by  narrow, 
dirty  walls  ;  and  thus  it  was  that  his  life  became,  in  the 
fullest  acceptation  of  the  term,  an  ideal  life.  Filled  with 
contempt  for  the  almost  useless  studies  to  which  we  were 
condemned,  Louis  went  his  aerial  way,  utterly  detached 
from  the  things  about  us.  Obeying  the  need  of  imita- 
tion which  possesses  children,  I  endeavored  to  conform 
my  existence  to  his.  Louis  inspired  me  all  the  more 
readily  with  his  passion  for  the  sort  of  sleep  into  which 
the  body  falls  when  the  mind  is  plunged  in  meditation, 
because  I  was  younger  and  more  impressible.  We  ac- 
customed ourselves,  like  lovers,  to  think  as  one  and  to 
share  our  reveries.  Already  his  intuitive  sensations 
had  the  acuteness  which  belongs  to  the  intellectual  per- 
ceptions of  great  poets,  leading  often  to  the  verge  of 
madness. 

"  Do  you  feel  as  I  do,"  he  one  day  asked  me,  "  that 
strange,  fantastic  sufferings  are  going  on  within  you  in 
spite  of  your  own  self  ?  For  example,  if  I  think  strongly 
on  the  sensation  the  blade  of  my  pen-knife  would  cause 
if  thrust  into  my  flesh,  I  instantly  experience  a  sharp 
pain,  as  though  I  had  really  cut  myself;  nothing  is 


Louis  Lambert. 


39 


lacking  but  the  flow  of  blood.  But  this  feeling  takes 
me  by  surprise,  like  a  sudden  noise  breaking  into  a  deep 
silence.  An  idea  causing  physical  suffering  !  What  do 
you  think  of  that  ? " 

When  he  gave  expression  to  such  vague  thoughts  we 
both  fell  back  into  naive  revery ;  we  tried  to  decipher 
within  ourselves  the  indescribable  phenomena  relating 
to  the  generation  of  thought,  which  Lambert  hoped  to 
catch  in  all  its  developments,  so  as  to  reveal  the  mys- 
terious process  at  some  future  day.  After  such  discus- 
sions, mingled  as  they  often  were  with  childish  play,  a 
look  would  flame  in  Lambert's  blazing  eyes  ;  he  pressed 
my  hands,  and  from  his  soul  some  saying  issued  by  which 
he  strove  to  gather  and  emit  the  thoughts  within  him. 

"  To  think  is  to  see,"  he  said  one  day,  roused  by  one 
of  our  discussions  on  the  principle  of  human  organiza- 
tion. "All  science  rests  on  deduction, —  a  chink  of 
vision  by  which  we  descend  from  cause  to  effect  return- 
ing upward  from  effect  to  cause ;  or,  in  a  broader  sense, 
poetry,  like  every  work  of  art,  springs  from  a  swift 
perception  of  things." 

He  was  all  spiritual;  but  I  ventured  to  oppose  him, 
using  his  own  observations  to  show  that  intellect  was 
an  altogether  physical  product.  We  were  both  right. 
Possibly  the  words  materialism  and  spiritualism  express 
two  sides  of  one  and  the  same  thing.  His  studies  on 
the  substance  of  thought  made  him  accept  with  a  sort 
of  pride  the  life  of  privation  to  which  our  indolence  and 
our  neglect  of  school  duty  condemned  us.  He  had  a 
certain  consciousness  of  his  own  value  which  sustained 


40 


Louis  Lambert. 


him  in  his  mental  efforts.  With  what  gentleness  did  his 
soul  react  on  mine  !  How  often  have  we  sat  together 
on  our  bench,  absorbed  in  our  books,  mutually  forget- 
ting each  other,  yet  knowing  that  each  was  there, 
plunged  in  the  ocean  of  ideas  like  two  fishes  swimming 
in  the  same  current.  Our  life  was  seemingly  nothing 
else  than  vegetation  ;  we  existed  in  our  brains  and  in 
our  hearts.  Feelings  and  thoughts  were  the  sole  events 
of  our  college  years. 

Lambert  exercised  an  influence  over  my  imagination 
which  I  feel  to  this  day.  I  listened  eagerly  to  his  talk 
in  which  the  marvellous,  so  dear  to  youth  and  age  in 
tales  where  truth  assumes  a  grotesque  form,  prevailed. 
His  passion  for  mysteiy  and  the  credulity  natural  to 
youth  led  us  often  to  talk  of  heaven  and  of  hell.  Louis 
tried,  in  explaining  Swedenborg,  to  make  me  share  his 
beliefs  as  to  angels.  Even  when  he  reasoned  falsely 
his  observations  of  the  power  of  man  were  amazing, 
and  gave  to  his  words  an  impress  of  truth  without 
which  nothing  is  really  possible  in  any  art.  The  ro- 
mantic end  which  he  awarded  to  human  destiny  was  of 
a  nature  to  foster  the  longing  of  virgin  imaginations  to 
yield  themselves  to  belief.  The  dogmas  and  idols  of  a 
people  are  conceived  and  born  in  the  days  of  its  youth. 
The  supernatural  beings  before  whom  it  trembles  are 
the  embodiment  of  its  own  feelings,  of  its  expanding 
needs.  All  that  my  memory  retains  of  our  conver- 
sations, full  of  poetry,  on  the  Swedish  prophet,  whose 
works  I  have  since  read  from  curiosity,  may  be  summed 
up  in  the  following  statement. 


Louis  Lambert. 


41 


taiere  are  within  us  two  distinct  beings.  According 
to  Swedenborg,  the  angel  is  the  individual  in  whom  the 
inward  being  has  triumphed  over  the  outward  being. 
If  a  man  desires  to  obey  his  calling  as  angel  (when 
thought  has  shown  him  the  fact  of  his  double  existence) 
he  must  seek  to  nourish  the  exquisite  angelic  nature 
which  is  within  him.    If,  failing  to  possess  this  translu- 
cent vision  of  his  destin\r,  he  lets  the  corporeal  tenden- 
cies predominate,  instead  of  merely  strengthening  and 
supporting  the  intellectual  life,  his  powers  pass  into  the 
service  of  his  external  senses,  and  the  angel  slowly  per- 
ishes through  the  materialization  of  both  natures.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  he  nourishes  the  inward  being  with 
the  essences  that  accord  with  it,  the  soul  rises  above 
matter  and  endeavors  to  get  free  of  it.    When  the  sep- 
aration takes  place  under  the  form  which  we  call  death, 
the  angel,  powerful  enough  to  break  loose  from  its  en- 
velope, continues  to  exist,  and  its  true  life  begins.  The 
infinite  individualities  which  differentiate  men  can  only 
be  explained  by  this  double  existence  ;  they  make  it  com- 
prehensible, and  they  demonstrate  it.    In  fact,  the  dis- 
tance that  exists  between  a  man  whose  inert  intellect  con- 
demns him  to  apparent  stupidity  and  another  man  whose 
exercise  of  his  inward  faculties  has  given  him  some 
force,  of  whatever  kind,  must  lead  us  to  suppose  that 
between  men  of  genius  and  other  beings  there  lies  the 
same  distance  as  between  a  blind  man  and  a  seer.  This 
thought,  which  infinitely  extends  creation,  gives  in  a 
measure  the  key  of  heaven.    Apparently  blended  in 
one  nature  here  below,  created  beings  are  in  fact  di- 


42 


Louis  Lambert. 


vided,  according  to  the  perfection  of  their  inward  being, 
into  separate  spheres  whose  language  and  ethics  are 
alien  to  each  other.  In  the  world  invisible,  as  in  the 
real  world,  when  some  inhabitant  of  the  lower  region 
enters  the  higher  circle  without  being  worthy  of  so  do- 
ing, not  only  is  he  unable  to  comprehend  the  customs 
or  the  subjects  of  discourse,  but  his  presence  paralyzes 
the  hearts  and  lips  of  others.  Dante,  in  his  Divine 
Comedy,  seems  to  have  had  some  slight  intuition  of 
these  spheres,  which  begin  in  the  world  of  sorrows  and 
rise  in  spiral  circles  up  to  heaven.  The  doctrine  of 
Swedenborg  is  the  work  of  a  lucid  mind  which  has 
gathered  and  recorded  the  innumerable  phenomena  by 
which  angels  reveal  themselves  among  men. 

This  doctrine,  which  I  thus  endeavor  to  sum  up  and 
show  in  its  logical  meaning,  was  first  presented  to  me 
by  Lambert  with  all  the  allurements  of  mystery,  wrapped 
in  the  phraseological  swaddling-clothes  peculiar  to  mys- 
tics, —  an  obscure  diction  filled  with  abstractions,  so 
stimulating  to  the  brain  that  there  are  certain  books 
by  Jacob  Bcehm,  Swedenborg,  and  Madame  Guyon 
whose  thrilling  power  calls  up  as  mairv  and  as  multi- 
form imaginations  as  opium  can  produce.  Lambert 
told  me  such  astounding  mystical  facts,  he  excited  my 
imagination  so  vividly  that  my  head  was  dazed.  Yet  I 
loved  to  plunge  into  that  world  of  mystery,  invisible  to 
the  senses,  where  each  soul  longs  to  penetrate,  whether 
we  conceive  it  under  the  shadowy  form  of  Futurfty* 
or  the  stalwart  shapes  of  Fable.  These  violent  re- 
actions of  the  soul  upon  itself  taught  me,  unawares, 


Louis  Lambert. 


43 


know  its  strength,  and  accustomed  me  to  the  toils 
of  thought. 

As  for  Lambert,  he  explained  everything  by  his  the- 
ory of  angels.    To  him  pure  love,  the  love  of  which  we 
dream  in  youth,  was  the  coming  together  of  two  angelic 
natures.    Nothing  could  equal  the  ardor  with  which  he 
longed  to  meet  a  woman-angel.    Ah !  who  more  truly 
than  he  was  fitted  to  inspire  and  to  feel  love  ?    If  any- 
thing could  give  an  idea  of  exquisite  sensibility  it  was 
the  kind  and  loving  nature  revealed  by  his  sentiments, 
his  words,  his  actions,  his  merest  gesture,  —  in  short,  the 
conjugality  which  bound  us  to  each  other  and  found 
expression  in  the  college  name  of  faisant.  There 
was  no  distinction  between  the  things  that  were  his  and 
the  things  that  were  mine.    We  imitated  each  other's 
writing,  so  that  one  could  do  the  tasks  of  both.  If 
either  of  us  had  a  book  to  finish  which  must  be  returned, 
he  could  read  in  peace  while  the  other  did  his  theme  or 
his  pensum.    We  regarded  these  lessons  as  a  tax  levied 
on  our  tranquillity.    If  my  memory  serves  me  right, 
they  showed  remarkable   superiority  when  Lambert 
wrote  them.   But  the  regent,  taking  us  for  two  dullards, 
judged  our  papers  by  foregone  prejudice,  and  even  pro- 
duced them  for  the  amusement  of  our  comrades.  I 
remember  one  evening,  as  the  session,  which  lasted  from 
two  to  four  o'clock,  was  ending,  the  master  caught 
up  a  version  of  Lambert's.     The  text  began  with 
the  words  Caius  Gracchus,  vir  nobilis.    Louis  had 
translated  them  into,  "  Caius  Gracchus  was  noble- 
hearted." 


44 


Louis  Lambert. 


"  Where  do  you  find  anything  about  'heart'  in  no- 
bilisf"  asked  the  professor,  sternly. 

Every  one  laughed,  and  Louis  looked  at  the  master 
with  a  bewildered  air. 

' 4  What  would  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Stael  say  if 
she  knew  you  gave  a  wrong  construction  to  a  word 
which  signifies  a  noble  race  of  patrician  origin  ! " 

"  She  would  say  you  were  a  fool,"  I  remarked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Monsieur  le  Poete,  you  will  go  to  prison  for  eight 
days,"  said  the  professor,  who  unfortunately  overheard 
me. 

Lambert  gently  said,  with  a  look  of  inexpressible 
tenderness  at  me,  "  Vir  nobilis  !  " 

Madame  de  Stael  was  in  a  measure  the  cause  of 
Lambert's  troubles.  Masters  and  scholars  threw  her 
name  at  his  head  on  the  least  provocation,  either  as  a 
reproach  or  in  irony.  Louis  was  not  long  in  getting 
himself  sent  to  prison  to  keep  me  company.  There, 
more  truly  at  liberty  than  elsewhere,  we  could  talk  the 
livelong  clay  in  the  quiet  of  the  dormitories,  where  each 
pupil  had  a  niche  or  cell  six  feet  square,  the  partitions 
of  which  had  iron  gratings  along  the  top,  — the  barred 
door  being  locked  every  night  and  opened  every  morn- 
ing under  the  eye  of  the  Father  whose  business  it  was 
to  superintend  our  getting  up  and  our  going  to  bed. 
The  creaking  of  those  doors,  handled  with  remarkable 
celerity  by  the  dormitory  servants,  was  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  college.  These  alcoves  served  as 
prisons  ;  sometimes  we  were  shut  up  in  them  for  over  a 


Louis  Lambert, 


45 


month.  The  scholars  in  these  cages  were  under  the 
stern  eye  of  the  prefect,  a  sort  of  proctor,  who  entered 
the  dormitories  with  a  light  foot,  unexpectedly,  to  learn 
if  we  were  talking  instead  of  doing  our  pensums.  But 
a  series  of  nut-shells  spread  on  the  stairwa}',  or  the 
trained  quickness  of  our  ears  nearly  always  enabled  us 
to  be  ready  for  him ;  so  we  gave  ourselves  up  to  our 
cherished  studies  without  anxiety.  Reading  was  of 
course  impossible,  and  we  spent  the  time  in  meta- 
physical discussions  or  in  recalling  curious  facts  con- 
nected with  the  phenomena  of  thought. 

One  of  the  most  curious  of  these  facts  I  will  here 
relate,  not  only  because  it  concerns  Louis,  but  also  be- 
cause it  ma}T  have  determined  his  scientific  destiny. 
According  to  the  rule  of  colleges,  Sunday  and  Thursday 
were  holidays  ;  but  the  church  services,  which  we  at- 
tended punctually,  took  up  so  much  of  Sunday  that  we 
regarded  Thursday  as  our  only  real  holiday.  After 
mass,  we  had  time  enough  to  take  long  walks  into  the 
country  around  Vendome.  The  manor  of  Rochambeau 
was  the  goal  of  our  best  excursions,  perhaps  because  it 
was  the  farthest  off.  The  Petits  were  seldom  allowed 
to  encounter  the  fatigue,  but  once  or  twice  a  year  the 
regents'  offered  them  a  day  at  Rochambeau  as  a  re- 
ward. Toward  the  close  of  the  spring  of  1812  we  were 
to  go  there  for  the  first  time.  Our  desire  to  see  the 
famous  chateau,  whose  proprietor  sometimes  gave  milk 
to  the  pupils,  kept  us  all  good  for  a  long  time.  Noth- 
ing hindered  the  excursion.  Neither  I  nor  Lambert 
had  ever  seen  the  pretty  valley  of  the  Loir,  in  which  the 


46 


Louis  Lambert. 


place  is  situated.  His  imagination  and  mine  were  there- 
fore much  preoccupied  the  evening  before  the  walk, 
which  was  regarded  among  the  scholars  with  traditional 
delight.  We  talked  of  it  the  whole  evening,  resolving 
to  spend  some  money,  which  we  possessed  against  the 
college  rules,  in  fruit  and  milk. 

We  started  at  half-past  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day, 
directly  after  dinner,  each  armed  with  a  cubic  piece  of 
bread  for  his  supper.  Nimble  as  swallows,  we  walked 
in  a  group  toward  the  famous  castle,  with  an  eagerness 
which  left  us  no  consciousness  of  fatigue.  When  we 
reached  the  hilltop,  from  which  we  could  see  the  build- 
ings on  the  descending  slope  and  the  tortuous  valley 
where  the  river  shone  as  it  wound  through  dimpling 
meadow-lands,  —  a  delightful  landscape,  one  of  those 
to  which  the  keen  emotions  of  early  youth  or  love 
give  such  charm  that  they  ought  never  to  be  revisited 
in  after  days,  —  Louis  suddenly  turned  to  me  and  said, 
64  But  I  saw  this  last  night  in  a  dream  !  "  He  recog- 
nized the  clump  of  trees  under  which  we  were  then 
passing,  the  forms  of  the  foliage,  the  color  of  the 
water,  the  towers  of  the  castle,  the  foreground,  the 
distance, — in  short,  all  the  details  of  the  scene,  which 
he  now  saw  for  the  first  time.  We  were  thorough  child- 
ren (at  least,  I  was  at  thirteen,  but  Louis  at  fifteen  had 
the  depth  of  a  man  of  genius),  and  at  this  period  of 
our  lives  we  were  incapable  of  deception  in  any  word 
or  act  of  our  friendship.  Though  Lambert  was  con- 
scious, through  his  omnipotence  of  thought,  of  the  im- 
portance of  such  facts,  he  was  far  from  even  guessing 


Louis  Lambert.  47 

their  fall  bearing;  he  was  therefore  much  astonished 
at  this  one.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  never  been  at  Ro- 
chambeau  in  his  infancy.  My  question  struck  him ; 
but  after  ransacking  his  memory,  he  answered  in  the 
negative.  This  circumstance,  whose  counterpart  may 
be  found  in  the  phenomena  of  sleep,  will  give  an  idea 
of  Louis  Lambert's  earlier  powers  ;  from  it  he  was  able 
to  deduce  a  system  by  taking,  as  did  Cuvier  in  another 
order  of  things,  a  fragment  of  thought  on  which  to  re- 
construct a  whole  creation. 

We  were  sitting  at  the  moment  under  the  branches 
of  an  old  oak.  After  a  few  moments'  reflection  Louis 
said  :  — 

"  If  that  landscape  did  not  come  to  me,  and  it  is 
absurd  to  suppose  it  did,  then  I  must  have  come  to  it. 
If  I  was  here  when  I  was  asleep  in  my  bed,  does  not 
that  fact  constitute  a  separation  between  my  body  and 
my  inward  being?  Does  it  not  prove  some  unexplained 
faculty  of  locomotion  in  the  mind,  with  results  equiva- 
lent to  those  of  the  locomotion  of  the  body?  Now,  if 
my  mind  and  my  body  leave  each  other  during  sleep, 
why  can  I  not  also  divorce  them  when  awake  ?  I  see 
no  middle  ground  between  the  two  propositions.  But 
to  go  further,  let  us  look  into  details.  Either  these 
facts  are  accomplished  by  the  power  of  some  faculty 
which  puts  in  operation  a  second  being  to  which  my 
body  serves  as  a  garment,  —  because  I  was  in  my  bed 
and  I  saw  the  landscape  (and  this  upsets  many  sys- 
tems), —  or  these  facts  occurred  either  in  some  nervous 
centre  whose  name  is  still  to  be  discovered,  where  feel- 


48 


Louis  Lambert. 


ings  take  their  rise,  or  in  the  cerebral  centre  where 
ideas  are  born.  This  last  hypothesis  raises  many 
strange  questions.  I  walked.  I  saw,  I  heard.  Motion 
cannot  be  conceived  of  without  space  :  sound  acts  only 
in  angles  or  upon  surfaces  ;  color  cannot  exist  without 
light.  If  I  saw  within  myself  during  the  night,  my 
eyes  being  closed,  certain  colored  objects,  if  I  heard 
sounds  in  total  silence  and  without  the  conditions 
required  for  sound  to  form.  if.  while  absolutely  motion- 
less. I  have  crossed  space.  I  must  have  internal  facul- 
ties which  are  independent  of  external  physical  law. 
How  is  it  that  men  have  reflected  so  little  about  the 
events  of  sleep  which  show  them  that  they  have  a 
double  life?  Is  there  not  a  dawning  science  in  that 
phenomenon?"  he  added,  striking  his  forehead.  "If  it 
is  not  the  germ  of  a  science  it  certainly  reveals  extraor- 
dinary powers  in  man  ;  it  shows,  at  least,  a  frequent 
disunion  of  our  two  natures.  —  a  fact  round  which 
my  mind  is  constantly  revolving.  At  last  I  have  ob- 
tained an  evidence  of  the  superiority  of  our  latent 

senses  over  our  manifest  senses!  homo  duplex!  

4i  But."  he  continued  after  a  pause,  with  a  gesture  of 
hesitation.  "  perhaps  there  are  not  two  natures  in  us; 
perhaps  we  are  only  gifted  with  inward  perfectible 
qualities,  the  exercise  and  development  of  which  pro- 
duce within  us  dual  phenomena  of  activity  and  penetra- 
tion of  vision  hitherto  unstudied.  In  our  love  for  the 
marvellous,  a  passion  bred  of  pride,  we  have  perhaps 
transformed  such  effects  into  poetic  creations  because 
we  cannot  comprehend  them.    It  is  so  convenient  to 


Louis  Lambert.  49 

4 

defy  the  incomprehensible  !  Ah  !  I  own  I  should  weep 
for  the  loss  of  my  illusions,  I  need  to  believe  in  a  dual 
nature  and  in  the  angels  of  Swedenborg !  Must  the 
new  science  kill  them?  Yes,  a  search  into  our  un- 
known attributes  and  faculties  implies  a  science  appar- 
ently materialistic  ;  for  Spirit  uses,  divides,  and  vivifies 
substance,  but  never  destroys  it." 

He  remained  thoughtful  and  half- melancholy.  Per- 
haps he  saw  that  the  dreams  of  his  youth  were  swad- 
dling-clothes he  was  called  upon  to  lay  aside. 

4k  Sight  and  hearing,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  at  his 
own  saying,  "  are  no  doubt  the  sheath  of  some  mar- 
vellous tool." 

At  all  times  when  he  talked  to  me  of  heaven  and 
hell,  he  would  gaze  at  nature  with  the  eye  of  a  mas- 
ter ;  but  as  he  said  these  last  words,  big  with  science, 
he  hovered  more  commanclingly  than  ever  above  the 
landscape,  and  his  brow  seemed  to  me  about  to  burst 
with  the  efforts  of  his  genius  ;  his  forces,  which  we 
must  call  moral  until  the  new  order  dawns,  appeared 
to  gush  from  the  organs  appointed  to  propel  them  ;  his 
eyes  shot  forth  his  thought,  his  lifted  hand,  his  mute 
and  trembling  lips  gave  utterance  to  it,  his  eye  shone 
radiant ;  and  then  his  head,  as  if  too  heavy,  or  wearied 
by  the  violent  impulsion  of  his  spirit,  dropped  upon  his 
breast.  The  child,  the  giant,  bowed  himself  down,  took 
my  hand,  pressed  it  in  his  own  moist  palm  fevered 
with  the  quest  for  truth,  and  then,  after  a  pause,  he 
said  :  — 

"I  shall  be  famous  —  and  you   too,"  he  added 
4 


50 


Louis  Lambert, 


quickly.  "We  shall  both  be  the  chemists  of  the 
Will." 

Exquisite  heart !  I  recognized  his  superiority,  but  he 
was  ever  careful  not  to  let  me  feel  it.  He  shared  with 
me  the  treasures  of  his  thought,  counted  me  for  some- 
thing in  all  his  discoveries,  and  gave  me  in  my  own 
right  the  value  of  my  immature  reflections.  Gracious 
and  winning  as  a  loving  woman,  he  had  all  those  chasti- 
ties of  feeling,  those  delicacies  of  soul;  which  make  life 
sweet  and  easy  to  bear. 

The  next  day  he  began  a  work  which  he  entitled  a 
"  Treatise  on  the  Will."  His  reflections  often  changed 
both  plan  and  method,  but  the  event  which  I  have  just 
recorded  of  this  solemn  clay  was  assuredly  the  germ  of 
the  work,  just  as  the  electric  sensation  felt  by  Mesmer 
at  the  approach  of  a  certain  valet  was  the  origin  of 
his  discoveries  in  magnetism,  —  a  science  hidden  in 
the  mysteries  of  Isis  and  Delphos  and  the  cave  of 
Trophonius,  and  rediscovered  by  that  wonderful  man, 
the  equal  of  Lavater  and  the  precursor  of  Gall.  Lighted 
by  this  sudden  illumination,  Lambert's  ideas  took  a 
wider  sweep ;  he  disentangled  from  his  mental  acquisi- 
tions certain  scattered  truths  and  gathered  them  to- 
gether ;  then,  like  a  worker  in  bronze,  he  moulded  his 
group.  After  six  months  of  steady  application,  Louis's 
toil  excited  the  curiosity  of  our  comrades,  and  was  made 
the  butt  of  cruel  jokes  which  led  finally  to  a  disastrous 
issue. 

One  day  our  chief  persecutor,  determined  to  read 
our  manuscripts,  instigated  some  of  our  other  tyrants 


Louis  Lambert.  51 

/ 

to  seize  the  box  which  contained  the  treasure,  which 
Louis  and  I  defended  with  unexampled  courage.  The 
box  was  locked,  and  our  aggressors  were  unable  to 
open  it  ;  but  they  tried  to  break  it  in  the  struggle,  — a 
dastardly  wrong  which  made  us  shout  with  anger.  A 
few  of  our  schoolmates,  moved  to  justice  or  struck  with 
our  heroic  resistance,  advised  the  others,  in  a  spirit  of 
contemptuous  pity,  to  let  us  alone.  Suddenly,  however, 
attracted  by  the  fray,  Father  Haugoult  came  upon  the 
scene,  and  inquired  into  the  cause  of  it.  Our  adver- 
saries had  stopped  us  while  doing  our  pensums,  and 
the  master  at  first  defended  us.  The  assailants,  to  ex- 
cuse themselves,  betrayed  the  existence  of  our  secret 
writings.  The  terrible  Haugoult  ordered  us  to  give 
him  the  box.  If  we  had  resisted  he  would  certainly 
have  broken  it  open  ;  Lambert  therefore  gave  him  the 
key ;  the  regent  took  the  papers,  turned  them  over  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  as  he  confiscated  them  : 
"  So  this  is  the  stuff  for  which  you  neglect  your 
themes  !  " 

Big  tears  rolled  from  Lambert's  eyes,  forced  out  as 
much  by  a  sense  of  insulted  mental  superiority  as  by 
the  gratuitous  injury  and  treachery  which  overwhelmed 
us.  We  darted  a  look  of  reproach  at  our  betrayers  ; 
they  had  sold  us  to  the  common  enemy !  Our  oppo- 
nents had  a  right  to  fight  us  under  the  schoolboy 
code,  but  they  were  bound  to  keep  silence  as  to  our 
college  faults.  They  themselves  felt  a  momentary 
shame.  In  all  probability  Father  Haugoult  sold  the 
4 'Treatise  on  the  Will"  as  so  much  waste-paper  to 


52 


Louis  Lambert. 


some  grocer  in  Vendome,  never  imagining  the  value  of 
the  scientific  treasures  whose  still-born  germs  were  thus 
scattered  by  the  hands  of  ignorance.  Six  months  later 
I  left  college.  I  do  not  know  whether  Louis  Lambert, 
who  was  plunged  into  deep  despondency  by  our  separa- 
tion, ever  renewed  the  work. 

In  memory  of  the  catastrophe  that  befel  Louis's  trea- 
tise I  used,  in  the  volume  which  begins  these  Philo- 
sophical Studies,  the  heading  really  chosen  by  Lambert 
as  the  title  of  a  fictitious  work  ;  and  I  also  gave  the 
name  of  a  woman  who  was  dear  to  him  to  a  }'oung  girl 
in  that  book  whose  life  was  self-devotion.1  But  these 
loans  are  not  all  I  owe  him.  His  character,  his  employ- 
ments, were  most  useful  to  me  in  composing  that  book, 
the  subject  of  which  is  an  outcome  of  our  youthful  medi- 
tations. The  present  History  is  intended  as  a  humble 
monument  to  the  life  of  one  who  bequeathed  to  me  all 
his  wealth  —  his  thought. 

In  that  first  child-work  Lambert  laid  down  his  ideas 
on  Man.  Ten  }Tears  later,  meeting  scientific  men  en- 
gaged in  studying  the  phenomena  which  had  struck  our 
youthful  minds,  and  which  Lambert  so  miraculously 
analyzed,  I  comprehended  the  importance  of  his  labors, 
then  almost  forgotten  as  a  childish  feat.  I  resolved  to 
spend  several  months  in  recalling  the  chief  discoveries 
of  my  poor  comrade.  After  gathering  my  recollections 
together,  I  can  affirm  that  in  1812  he  had  foreseen,  dis- 
cussed, and  established  in  his  treatise  several  impor- 
1  La  Peau  de  Chagrin  (The  Magic  Skin). 


y  '  Louis  Lambert.  53 

tant  facts,  the  proofs  of  which,  as  he  then  said  to  me, 
would  come  sooner  or  later.    His  philosophical  specu- 
lations ought  certainly  to  place  him  among  the  great 
thinkers  who  appear  at  intervals  among  their  fellow-men 
to  make  known  the  bare  elements  of  a  coming  science, 
whose  roots,  slow  in  developing  growth,  bear  noble 
fruits  at  last  in  the  domain  of  intellect.    Thus,  in  the 
sixteenth   century,  a  poor   artisan   named  Bernard, 
searching  the  soil  for  the  secret  of  enamel,  asserted, 
with  the  infallible  authority  of  genius,  the  very  geo- 
logical facts  whose  demonstration  is  now  the  glory  of 
Buffon  and  of  Cuvier.    I  believe  I  can  present  an  idea 
of  Louis  Lambert's  treatise  by  stating  the  main  propo- 
sitions on  which  it  was  based ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  my 
efforts  to  the  contrary,  I  fear  I  shall  denude  them  of  the 
ideas  with  which  he  clothed  them,  and  which  are  indeed 
their  indispensable  accompaniment.    Pursuing  a  path 
of  thought  other  than  his,  I  selected  from  among  his 
researches  those  results  which  best  suited  the  needs  of 
my  own  system.    I  am  therefore  doubtful  —  I,  his  dis- 
ciple —  if  I  can  faithfully  reproduce  his  thoughts  after 
having  assimilated  them  in  a  manner  which  may  have 
colored  them  with  mine. 

New  ideas  need  new  words,  or  old  words  in  wider 
and  better  defined  acceptations.  To  express  the  bases 
of  his  system,  Louis  Lambert  had  therefore  chosen  cer- 
tain words  in  common  use  which  responded  already, 
though  vaguely,  to  his  thought.  The  word  Will  served 
to  express  the  medium  in  which  thought  is  evolved ;  or, 
to  use  a  less  abstract  form  of  expression,  the  volume  of 


54 


Louis  Lambert. 


force  by  which  man  reproduces  outside  of  himself  the 
actions  which  make  up  his  external  existence.  Volition 
(a  word  we  owe  to  the  reflections  of  Locke)  expressed 
the  act  by  which  a  man  makes  use  of  Will.  The  word 
Thought,  to  Louis  the  quintessential  product  of  the 
Will,  designated  also  the  medium  in  wThich  are  born 
Ideas,  to  which  the  Will  serves  as  substance.  The 
Idea,  not  common  to  all  creations  of  the  brain,  consti- 
tutes the  act  by  which  man  makes  use  of  Thought. 

Thus  Will  and  Thought  are  two  generating  agents. 
Volition  and  Idea  are  the  two  products.  Will  seemed 
to  him  the  Idea  advanced  from  its  abstract  condition  to 
a  concrete  condition,  from  its  fluid  generation  to  a 
quasi-solid  expression,  if  indeed  these  words  can  formu- 
late perceptions  so  difiicult  to  discriminate.  Accord- 
ing to  Lambert,  Thought  and  Ideas  are  the  motion  and 
the  action  of  our  inward  organism,  just  as  Volition  and 
Will  are  those  of  our  exterior  being.  He  placed  Will 
above  Thought.  u  To  think,  we  must  needs  will,"  he 
said.  u  Many  persons  live  in  a  condition  of  Willing 
who  never  reach  the  condition  of  Thought.  In  the 
North  we  find  longevity,  in  the  South  brevity  of  life ; 
but  also  in  the  former  a  torpidity,  in  the  latter  an  ex- 
citation of  the  Will,  up  to  the  point  where,  either  from 
extreme  heat  or  extreme  cold,  the  organs  become 
almost  nugatory. 

His  expression  66  medium"  was  suggested  to  him  by 
an  observation  made  in  early  childhood, — the  impor- 
tance of  which  he  certainly  did  not  then  suspect, 
though  its  curious  singularity  must  have  greatly  struck 


7  Louis  Lambert.  55 

his  impressible  imagination.  His  mother,  a  slender, 
high-strung  creature,  all  delicacy  and  all  love,  was  one 
of  those  beings  predestined  to  represent  Woman  in  the 
perfection  of  her  attributes  whom  a  blind  fate  leaves 
in  the  lower  strata  of  the  social  state.  All-loving, 
consequently  all-suffering,  she  died  young,  after  turn- 
ing every  faculty  into  motherly  devotion.  Lambert,  a 
child  of  six,  lying  awake  in  a  cot  by  his  mother's  bed, 
saw  electric  sparks  escaping  from  her  hair  as  she 
combed  it.  The  man  of  fifteen  seized  upon  this  fact  so 
amusing  to  his  childhood,  and  put  it  to  the  uses  of 
science,  —  an  undeniable  fact,  to  be  observed  in  almost 
every  woman  whom  a  certain  fatality  of  destiny  burdens 
with  feelings  misunderstood  which  need  a  vent,  or  with 
a  superabundance  of  vigor  which  she  needs  to  lose. 

In  support  of  his  definitions,  Lambert  brought  for- 
ward several  problems  for  solution,  splendid  challenges 
offered  to  science,  through  which  he  hoped  to  reach  con- 
clusions. He  was  constantly  asking  himself,  "Does 
the  constituent  principle  of  electricity  enter  as  a  basis 
into  the  particular  fluid  from  which  Ideas  and  Volitions 
spring?  Does  the  hair  which  discolors,  brightens, 
falls,  and  disappears  from  the  head,  according  to  vary- 
ing degrees  of  waste  or  of  crystallization  of°  thought, 
constitute  a  capillary  system  either  absorbent  or  °ex- 
halant,  and  wholly  electrical?  Are  the  fluid  phenomena 
of  our  Will  (a  substance  procreated  within  us  and  spon- 
taneously reactive  at  the  bidding  of  conditions  still 
unobserved)  more  extraordinary  than  those  of  the  invis- 
ible and  intangible  fluid  produced  by  a  voltaic  battery 


53 


Louis  Lambert. 


on  the  nervous  system  of  a  dead  man  ?  Is  the  forma- 
tion of  our  ideas,  and  their  constant  emission  any  less 
incomprehensible  than  the  evaporation  of  those  cor- 
puscles, imperceptible  to  the  eye  yet  violent  in  action, 
to  which  a  grain  of  musk  is  subjected  without  losing  its 
weight  ?  If  wTe  leave  to  the  cutaneous  system  of  our 
outward  man  only  those  functions  that  are  defensive, 
absorbent,  exudant,  and  tactile,  does  not  the  circula- 
tion of  the  blood  and  its  apparatus  answer  to  the 
transubstantiation  of  Will,  just  as  the  circulation  of 
the  nervous  fluid  answers  to  that  of  Thought?  Final^, 
does  the  influence,  more  or  less  powerful,  of  these  two 
substances  result  from  a  certain  perfection  or  imper- 
fection of  organs,  the  conditions  of  which  ought  to  be 
studied  in  all  their  manifestation? 

These  principles  once  established,  he  desired  to  class 
the  phenomena  of  human  life  in  two  series  of  distinct 
effects,  —  demanding  for  each  of  them,  with  the  insis- 
tent ardor  of  conviction,  a  separate  and  special  anaty- 
sis.  In  fact,  after  distinguishing  in  nearly  all  created 
things  two  separate  movements,  he  presented  the  fact 
and  admitted  it  among  those  of  human  nature,  naming 
this  vital  antagonism  Action  and  Reaction. 

4i  A  desire,"  he  said,  "  is  a  fact  wholly  accomplished 
within  our  Will  before  it  reaches  external  accomplish- 
ment. Thus  the  conjunction  of  our  Volitions  and  our 
Ideas  constitutes  Action,  and  the  conjunction  of  our 
exterior  acts  Reaction." 

When,  at  a  later  clay,  I  read  the  observations  made 
by  Bichat  on  the  dualism  of  our  external  senses,  I  was 


Louis  Lambert.  57 

bewildered  by  recollections  as  I  perceived  the  startling 
identity  between  the  ideas  of  the  great  physiologist  and 
those  of  Louis  Lambert.  Dying  before  their  allotted 
time,  the  two  had  walked  with  even  steps,  side  by 
side,  towards  unknown  truths.  Nature  finds  pleasure 
in  giving  duplicate  destinies  to  diverse  constitutional 
arrangements  in  her  creatures,  and  the  double  action  of 
our  organism,  a  fact  no  longer  contestable,  supports, 
with  a  volume  of  daily  proof,  Lambert's  deductions  as 
to  Action  and  Reaction.  The  acting  or  interior  being 
(a  term  which  Louis  used  to  name  the  unknown  spe- 
cies, the  mysterious  assemblage  of  fibrils  from  which 
proceed  the  different  powers  incompletely  observed  as 
Thought  and  Will, — in  short,  that  unnamed,  seeing, 
acting,  producing  being,  who  accomplishes  all  without 
corporeal  demonstration)  must,  in  order  to  conform  to 
his  own  nature,  be  subjected  to  none  of  the  physical 
conditions  by  which  the  reacting,  or  exterior,  being, 
the  visible  man,  is  checked  in  his  manifestations. 

From  this  flowed  a  multitude  of  logical  explanations 
on  the  apparently  fantastic  effects  of  our  double  nature, 
and  the  rectification  of  various  theories  which  are 
equally  false  and  true.  Certain  minds  having  per- 
ceived the  phenomena  of  natural  fire  in  the  acting 
being  are,  like  Swedenborg,  carried  beyond  the  world 
of  actual  things  by  their  ardent  souls,  amorous  of 
poesy,  drunk  with  the  essence  of  the  divine.  They 
delight,  ignorant  as  they  are  of  causes  while  admiring 
results,  to  deify  this  inward  being  and  its  works,  and  to 
build  up  a  mystic  universe.    Hence  the  angels,  —  ex- 


58 


Louis  Lambert. 


quisite  illusions  which  Lambert  would  not  renounce. 
While  the  blade  of  his  analysis  cut  off  their  dazzling 
wings,  he  still  clasped  them  to  his  heart. 

"Heaven,"  he  said  to  me,  "must  be  the  survival  of 
our  perfected  faculties,  and  hell  the  nothingness  into 
which  unperfected  faculties  return." 

But  how,  during  the  ages  when  human  understanding 
still  retained  the  religious  and  spiritual  impressions 
which  ruled  the  world  between  the  times  of  Christ  and 
of  Descartes,  between  Faith  and  Doubt,  how  could 
the  mind  avoid  explaining  the  mysteries  of  our  inward 
nature  otherwise  than  by  Divine  intervention?  Of 
whom,  if  not  of  God  himself,  could  learned  men  ask 
an  explanation  of  the  invisible  creature,  so  actively  and 
so  reactively  sensitive  ;  endowed  with  faculties  so  wide- 
reaching,  so  perfectible  through  use,  so  powerful  under 
the  control  of  certain  occult  conditions,  that  at  times 
t\\ey  saw  it,  by  a  phenomenon  of  sight  or  of  locomotion, 
abolish  space  in  its  two  aspects  of  Time  and  Distance, 
—  the  former  being  intellectual  space,  the  latter  physical 
space.  Or  again,  they  saw  this  being  reconstruct  the 
past,  either  by  the  power  of  a  retrospective  glance,  or 
by  the  mystery  of  a  palingenesis,  like  that  which  ena- 
bles a  man  to  trace  a  flower  from  the  germ,  or  the 
teguments  of  a  seed  through  all  the  innumerable  modi- 
fications of  color,  fragrance,  and  form  of  its  anterior 
bloom.  And  still  again,  and  finally,  they  saw  it  divin- 
ing imperfectly  the  future,  either  through  a  glimpse 
of  the  earlier  faiths,  or  by  a  phenomenon  of  physical 
presentiments. 


Louis  Lambert.  59 

Other  men,  less  poetically  religious,  cold  reasoners, 
charlatans  perhaps,  enthusiasts,  if  at  all,  by  the  brain 
rather  than  by  the  heart,  observing  from  time  to  time 
these  isolated  phenomena,  have  held  them  to  be  true 
without  considering  them  as  radiations  from  a  common 
centre.    Each  man  sought  to  convert  a  simple  fact  into 
a  science.    Hence,  demonology,  judicial  astrology,  sor- 
cery, —  in  short,  all  the  divining  arts  based  on  incidents 
that  were  essentially  transitory  because  they  varied 
according  to  temperaments  and  in  accordance  with 
circumstances  still  wholly  unexplained.    But  through 
these  errors  of  the  learned,  and  from  ecclesiastical 
trials  in  which  so  many  martyrs  were  the  victims  of 
their  own  faculties,  there  came  at  last  effulgent  proof 
of  the  prodigious  power  of  the  acting  inward  being 
who,  according  to  Lambert,  is  able  to  isolate,  himself 
so  completely  from  the  reacting  external  being  that  he 
can  burst  the  shell  and  force  the  walls  of  flesh  to  open 
before  his  omnipotent  mind's  eye  (a  phenomenon  called 
among  the  Hindoos  the  Tokeiad),  and  then,  by  virtue 
of  another  faculty,  seize  within  the  brain,  in  spite  of 
its  thick  convolutions,  ideas  which  are  formed  or  form- 
ing, and  all  the  past  experience  of  consciousness. 

"If  apparitions  are  not  impossible,"  said  Lambert, 
"they  must  take  place  through  some  faculty  of  appre- 
hending the  ideas  that  represent  man  in  his  pure  es- 
sence; the  existence  of  which,  imperishable  perhaps, 
eludes  our  exterior  senses,  but  may  become  perceptible 
to  the  inward  being  when  he  attains  to  a  high  degree 
of  ecstasy,  or  to  a  rare  perfection  of  sight." 


60 


Louis  Lambert. 


I  recall,  though  now  somewhat  vaguely,  that  Lam- 
bert, following  step  by  step  the  effects  of  Thought 
and  Will  in  all  their  manifestations,  after  first  deter- 
mining their  laws,  was  able  to  account  for  a  crowd  of 
phenomena  which  till  then  were  justly  thought  to  be 
incomprehensible.  Necromancers,  witches,  those  pos- 
sessed of  second-sight,  and  demoniacs  of  all  kinds, 
victims  of  the  Middle  Ages,  were  the  objects  of  natural 
explanation  whose  very  simplicity  seemed  to  me  to 
bear  the  stamp  of  truth.  The  marvellous  gifts  which 
the  Church  of  Rome,  jealous  of  mysteries,  punished 
with  the  stake  were,  according  to  Louis,  the  result  of 
certain  affinities  between  the  constituent  principles  of 
Matter  and  those  of  Thought,  which  proceed  from  the 
same  source.  The  man  with  the  hazel  wand  who  found 
the  water-springs  obeyed  the  impulse  of  some  sympathy, 
or  some  antipathy,  to  himself  unknown.  Such  phenom- 
ena needed  a  certain  fantasticality  to  give  them  historical 
preservation.  Sympathies  are  seldom  verified.  They 
bestow  pleasures  which  persons  fortunately  endowed 
with  them  seldom  make  known,  unless  through  some 
special  necessity ;  they  are  lost  in  the  seclusion  of  pri- 
vacy where  so  much  is  forgotten.  On  the  other  hand, 
antipathies,  which  result  from  reversed  affinities,  have 
been  noted  with  great  distinctness  when  they  appear 
among  celebrated  men.  Bajle  was  thrown  into  con- 
vulsions by  the  sound  of  falling  water.  Scaliger  turned 
pale  at  the  sight  of  cress.  Erasmus  took  a  fever  from 
the  smell  of  fish.  These  three  antipathies  emanated 
from  aquatic  substances.    The  Due  d'Epernon  fainted 


Louis  Lambert.  61 

y 

at  the  sight  of  a  hare ;  Tycho-Brahe  at  that  of  a  fox  ; 
Henri  HI.  at  that  of  a  eat ;  Marechal  d'Albret  at  that  of 
a  wild  boar,  —  antipathies  produced  by  animal  emana- 
tions and  perceived  often  at  long  distances.  The  Cheva- 
lier de  Guise,  Marie  de  Medici,  and  many  other  historic 
personages  were  made  ill  by  roses,  even  painted  ones. 
Whether  Francis  Bacon  knew  or  did  not  know  of  an 
approaching  eclipse  of  the  moon,  he  fell  into  a  state  of 
coma  when  it  took  place ;  life  was  arrested  during  the 
whole  time  the  obscuration  lasted,  but  recovered  vigor 
when  it  was  over,  without  any  uncomfortable  results. 
These  effects  of  authentic  antipathies,  taken  at  random 
from  those  which  history  has  noted,  will  suffice  to  give 
an  idea  of  the  effects  of  hidden  sympathies, 

This  fragment  of  Lambert's  investigations  which  my 
memory  still  retains  will  serve  to  show  his  methods  in 
pursuing  his  work.  I  think  I  need  not  call  attention  to 
the  correlation  which  links  this  theory  to  the  collateral 
sciences  invented  by  Gall  and  Lavater ;  they  are  its 
natural  corollaries  ;  and  minds  of  even  slender  scientific 
attainments  will  perceive  the  ramifications  by  which  the 
phrenological  observations  of  the  one  and  the  physiog- 
nomical data  of  the  other  are  necessarily  attached  to  it. 
Mesmer's  discovery,  so  important  and  so  ill- understood 
even  at  the  present  day,  would  have  been  found  entire 
in  Lambert's  treatise,  though  Louis  knew  nothing  of  the 
somewhat  laconic  works  of  the  celebrated  Swiss  doctor. 
A  logical  and  simple  deduction  of  the  principles  he  had 
observed  showed  him  that  Will  could,  by  a  movement 
set  going  solely  by  the  inward  being,  accumulate  itself 


62 


Louis  Lambert. 


and,  b}T  another  movement,  be  impelled  outward,  and 
even  be  imparted  to  material  objects.  Thus  a  man's 
whole  force  had  potency  to  react  upon  others  and  to 
infuse  into  them  an  essence  foreign  to  their  own,  if  they 
did  not  defend  themselves  from  the  aggression.  The 
evidences  of  this  theorem  of  the  science  of  humanity 
are  multitudinous,  but  nothing  has  yet  converted  them 
into  authentic  proof.  The  impressive  disaster  of  Marius 
and  his  speech  to  the  Cimbrian  who  was  appointed  to 
kill  him,  or  the  august  command  of  a  mother  to  the  Lion 
of  Florence  were  needed  to  make  known  historically  a 
few  of  these  thunderbolts  of  thought. 

To  Lambert,  therefore,  Will  and  Thought  were  living 
forces ;  and  he  spoke  of  them  in  a  way  to  make  me 
share  his  beliefs.  To  him  these  powers  were,  in  a  sense, 
visible  and  tangible.  To  him  Thought  was  slow  or 
quick,  heav}T  or  nimble,  obscure  or  clear ;  he  gave  it 
all  the  qualities  of  active  being ;  made  it  spring  forth, 
become  quiescent,  re-awake,  increase,  grow  old,  shrink, 
wither,  revive  ;  he  caught  its  life  as  he  thus  specified  its 
acts  through  the  capricious  medium  of  language ;  he 
apprehended  its  spontaneity,  its  vigor,  its  capacit}',  by 
a  sort  of  intuition  which  enabled  him  to  recognize  all 
the  phenomena  of  the  substance. 

"  Often,"  he  once  said  to  me,  "  in  calm  and  silent 
hours,  when  our  inward  faculties  are  asleep,  when  we 
yield  ourselves  up  to  the  sweetness  of  rest,  when  a  spe- 
cies of  shadow  steals  through  us,  and  we  fall  into  con- 
templation of  external  things,  an  idea  suddenly  springs 
forth  and  darts  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  across 


Louis  Lambert. 


63 


vast  spaces,  a  sight  of  which  is  granted  to  our  interior 
perceptions.  This  shining  thought,  up-springing  like  a 
will-o'-the-wisp,  goes  out  like  a  flash  and  returns  no 
more,  —  ephemeral  existence,  like  that  of  infants  whose 
coming  and  whose  going  give  boundless  joy  and  grief  to 
parents,  —  a  flower  still-born,  as  it  were,  in  the  fields  of 
Mind.  Sometimes,  instead  of  gushing  forth  and  dying 
without  substance,  this  Idea  begins  to  form ;  it  stirs 
on  the  unknown  confines  of  the  organs  in  which  it  was 
generated ;  it  consumes  us  with  a  long  gestation ;  it 
quickens,  fructifies,  and  develops  outwardly  with  the 
grace  of  youth  and  the  attributes  of  old  age  ;  it  attracts 
and  detains  the  inquiring  eye,  and  never  wearies  it ;  the 
investigation  it  provokes  commands  the  admiring  won- 
der given  to  long-elaborated  works.  Sometimes  ideas 
come  to  birth  in  swarms,  —  one  brings  forth  another ; 
they  link  together ;  they  are  stimulating,  affluent,  head- 
long. Or  again,  they  rise  up  pallid,  confused,  perishing 
for  want  of  nourishment  or  vigor ;  the  generating  sub- 
stance was  lacking.  Then,  too,  on  certain  days,  they 
fling  themselves  into  the  depths  of  the  abyss,  seeking 
to  cast  light  into  its  immensity  ;  they  terrify  us,  they 
leave  our  souls  exhausted.  Ideas  are  a  system  com- 
plete within  us,  like  any  of  the  kingdoms  of  Nature, — 
a  sort  of  flora  whose  iconography  will  one  day  be  traced 
out  by  a  man  of  genius  whom  the  wTorld  will  call  a  luna- 
tic. Yes,  all  things,  within  us  and  without  us,  bear  evi- 
dence to  the  life  of  Ideas,  —  those  ravishing  creations 
which,  obeying  some  mysterious  revelation  of  their  na- 
ture, I  compare  to  flowers.    Their  production,  as  the 


G4 


Louis  Lambert. 


end  and  aim  of  man,  is  not  more  amazing  than  the  em- 
anation of  perfume  and  color  from  a  plant.  Possibly, 
perfumes  have  ideas.  When  we  think  that  the  line  where 
our  flesh  ends  and  the  finger-nails  begin  contains  the  in- 
visible and  inexplicable  mystery  of  the  ceaseless  trans- 
formation of  our  fluids  into  horn,  we  must  admit  that 
nothing  is  impossible  in  the  marvellous  mutations  of 
human  substance.  Surely  we  find  in  the  moral  nature 
phenomena  of  motion  and  gravity  similar  to  those  of 
the  physical  nature.  The  emotion  of  expectant  atten- 
tion, to  choose  an  example  which  everybody  has  felt, 
is  painful  through  the  effect  of  a  law  in  virtue  of  w^hich 
the  weight  of  a  bocty  is  multiplied  by  its  swiftness.  Does 
not  the  weight  of  sentiment,  the  moral  gravity,  which 
waiting  produces  increase  by  the  constant  addition  of 
the  past  pains  to  present  pain  ?  To  what,  if  not  to 
some  electric  substance,  can  we  attribute  that  magic 
by  force  of  which  the  Will  sits  majestically  enthroned 
in  the  eye  to  blast  all  obstacles  at  the  command  of 
genius,  or  breaks  forth  in  the  voice,  or  filters  visibly,  in 
defiance  of  In^pocris}7,  through  the  human  cuticle  ?  The 
current  of  this  king  of  fluids,  which,  under  the  high 
pressure  of  Thought  or  Sentiment,  flows  forth  in  waves, 
lessens  to  a  thread,  or  gathers  to  a  volume  and  gushes 
forth  in  lightning  jets,  is  the  occult  minister  to  whom 
we  owe  the  efforts  (be  they  fatal  or  beneficent)  of  the 
arts  and  the  passions, — the  intonations  of  the  voice, 
rough,  sweet,  terrifying,  lascivious,  .horrible,  seductive, 
which  vibrate  in  the  heart,  in  the  bowels,  in  the  brain, 
at  the  will  of  our  wishes  ;  the  spell  of  touch  from  which 


Louis  Lambert.  65 

proceed  the  mental  transfusions  of  artists  whose  cre- 
ative hands,  made  perfect  through  passionate  study,  can 
evoke  nature ;  the  endless  gradations  of  the  eye,  pass- 
ing from  sluggish  atony  to  the  discharge  of  lightning- 
flashes  full  of  menace.  God  loses  none  of  his  rights 
in  this  system.  Thought,  material  thought,  tells  me  of 
new  and  undiscovered  grandeurs  in  the  Divine." 

When  he  spoke  thus  —  when  his  glance  penetrated 
my  soul  like  light  itself— it  was  difficult  not  to  be  daz- 
zled by  his  conviction  and  carried  away  by  his  argu- 
ments. Thus  Thought  seemed  to  my  mind  a  purely 
physical  power  attended  by  its  incommensurable  pro- 
geny. It  was  a  new  Humanity  under  another  form. 
This  rapid  sketch  of  the  laws  which  Lambert  declared 
to  be  the  formulae  of  the  human  intellect  must  suffice 
to  show  the  prodigious  activity  with  which  his  mind  fed 
upon  itself.  He  sought  for  evidence  of  his  theories  in 
the  history  of  great  men,  whose  lives,  laid  bare  in  biog- 
raphies, furnish  many  curious  particulars  as  to  the  work- 
ing of  their  understandings.  His  memory  enabled  him 
to  recall  facts  which  helped  to  develop  his  assertions, 
and  he  annexed  them  to  the  several  chapters  which  they 
demonstrated,  so  that  many  of  his  axioms  acquired  a 
certainty  that  was  well-nigh  mathematical.  The  works 
of  Cardan,  a  man  gifted  with  remarkable  powers  of 
vision,- afforded  him  precious  material.  He  forgot 
neither  Apollonius  of  Tyana,  announcing  to  Asia  the 
tyrant's  death  and  describing  his  execution  at  the  very 
hour  when  it  took  place  in  Rome  ;  nor  Plotinus,  sepa- 
rated  from  Porphyrius  yet  conscious  of  the  latter's 


66 


Louis  Lambert. 


intention  to  kill  himself,  and  rushing  to  dissuade  him ; 
nor  a  fact  clearly  proved  in  the  last  century,  in  spite  of 
a  sneering  incredulity  such  as  truth  had  never  before 
encountered,  —  a  surprising  fact  to  those  accustomed 
to  use  doubt  as  a  weapon  against  itself  only,  yet  sim- 
ple enough  to  a  believer :  Alphonse-Maria  de  Liguori, 
Bishop  of  Saint  Agatha,  gave  the  consolations  of  re- 
ligion to  Pope  Ganganelli,  who  saw,  heard,  and  an- 
swered him  ;  yet  at  that  very  moment  the  bishop  was 
far  from  Home,  seated,  absorbed  in  ecstasy,  in  the  arm- 
chair which  he  always  occupied  on  his  return  from  mass. 
When  he  came  to  himself  he  saw  the  servants  kneeling 
around  him,  and  thinking  he  was  dead.  "  My  friends," 
he  said  to  them,  "the  Holy  Father  has  just  expired. " 
Two  days  later,  a  courier  confirmed  the  news.  The  mo- 
ment of  the  pope's  death  coincided  with  that  at  which 
the  bishop  recovered  from  his  trance. 

Neither  did  Lambert  overlook  a  more  recent  affair 
which  happened  in  the  last  century  to  a  young  English- 
woman, who,  being  passionately  in  love  with  a  sailor, 
started  from  London  to  search  for  him,  and  alone,  with- 
out a  guide,  found  him  in  the  wilds  of  North  America, 
where  she  arrived  in  time  to  save  his  life.  Louis  laid 
under  contribution  the  mysteries  of  antiquit}T,  the  acts 
of  the  martyrs  (noblest  claims  to  glory  of  the  human 
will),  the  demonologists  of  the  Middle  Ages,  criminal 
trials,  medical  researches,  — discerning  the  essential  fact, 
the  probable  phenomenon,  with  admirable  sagacity. 

This  rich  collection  of  scientific  anecdotes,  gathered 
from  a  multitude  of  books  for  the  most  part  trust- 


/ 


Louis  Lambert.  67 

worthy,  went,  no  doubt,  to  wrap  groceries  ;  and  a  work, 
curious  to  say  the  least,  conceived  and  brought  forth 
by  the  most  extraordinary  of  human  memories,  prob- 
ably perished.  Among  the  many  proofs  which  enriched 
it  was  the  history  of  an  event  which  happened  in  Lam- 
bert's family,  and  which  he  had  related  to  me  before 
undertaking  his  treatise.  This  circumstance,  concern- 
ing the  post-existence  of  the  inward  being  (if  I  may 
allow  myself  to  coin  a  word  to  express  a  yet  unnamed 
condition),  struck  me  so  forcibly  that  I  have  always 
remembered  it. 

His  father  and  mother  were  threatened  with  a  suit 
the  loss  of  which  would  cast  a  stain  upon  their  integ- 
rity, the  sole  property  they  possessed.  Consequently, 
their  anxiety  was  great  in  deciding  the  question  as 
to  whether  they  should  yield  at  once  to  the  unjust  de- 
mands of  their  opponent,  or  whether  they  should  risk 
all  and  defend  themselves.  The  discussion  took  place 
one  autumn  evening,  before  a  peat  fire,  in  the  chamber 
of  the  tanner  and  his  wife.  A  few  of  the  family  rela- 
tions were  called  in  to  the  consultation ;  among  them 
Louis's  maternal  great-grandfather,  an  old  laborer  com- 
pletely broken-down,  of  a  noble  and  majestic  counte- 
nance, a  clear  eye,  and  an  ample  brow  yellowed  with 
age,  on  which  a  few  white  hairs  were  sparsely  straggling. 
Like  the  Obi  of  the  negroes,  or  the  Sagamore  of  the 
Indians,  he  was  a  kind  of  oracular  spirit,  consulted  on 
all  great  occasions.  His  lands  were  cultivated  by  his 
grandchildren,  who  fed  and  cared  for  him.  He  foretold 
rains  and  fair  weather,  told  them  when  to  gather  the 


63 


Louis  Lambert. 


harvest,  and  when  to  mow  the  meadows.  The  barom- 
etric accuracy  of  his  counsel  grew  famous,  and  con- 
stantly increased  the  faith  and  reverence  which  were 
shown  to  him.  He  sometimes  sat  motionless  on  his 
chair  for  days  together.  This  trance  condition  was 
customary  with  the  old  man  since  the  death  of  his  wife, 
for  whom  he  had  felt  the  deepest  and  most  constant 
affection.  The  discussion  now  went  on  before  him  with- 
out his  apparently  paying  much  attention  to  it.  "  My 
children,"  he  said,  when  asked  to  give  his  advice,  "  this 
matter  is  too  serious  for  me  to  decide  alone,  I  must 
consult  my  wife."  He  then  rose,  took  his  stick  and 
w^ent  out,  to  the  great  surprise  of  all  present,  who 
thought,  for  a  moment,  that  he  had  become  childish. 
Presently  he  returned  and  said:  4k  I  was  not  obliged 
to  go  so  far  as  the  cemetery,  your  mother  met  me ;  I 
found  her  beside  the  brook.  She  tells  me  that  you  will 
find  receipts  in  the  hands  of  a  notary  at  Blois  which 
will  enable  you  to  win  your  suit."  The  words  wrere 
uttered  in  a  firm  voice.  The  attitude  and  expression 
of  the  old  man  were  such  as  to  make  the  spectators 
conclude  that  the  apparition  was  customary  with  him. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  disputed  receipts  were  found, 
and  the  suit  was  not  even  brought. 

This  circumstance,  happening  under  the  paternal  roof 
and  under  Louis's  own  eye,  he  being  then  nine  years  old, 
contributed  not  a  little  to  his  belief  in  the  miraculous 
visions  of  Swedenborg,  who  afforded  during  his  extraor- 
dinary life  many  proofs  of  the  power  of  vision  acquired 
by  his  inward  being.    As  Lambert  grew  in  years,  and 


Louis  Lambert. 


69 


in  proportion  to  the  development  of  his  intellect,  he  was 
led  to  search  the  laws  of  human  nature  for  the  causes 
of  the  miracle  he  had  witnessed  in  his  childhood.  By 
what  name  must  we  call  the  accident  which  brought 
about  him  the  facts  and  the  books  relating  to  such 
phenomena,  and  made  the  youth  himself  the  theatre  and 
the  actor  of  the  greatest  miracles  of  thought  ?  If  Louis 
had  no  other  claim  to  glory  than  that  of  having,  at  the 
age  of  fifteen,  given  forth  the  following  psychological 
axiom,  we  must  still,  I  think,  have  mourned  in  him  the 
loss  of  a  genius  equal  to  that  of  Pascal,  Lavoisier,  or 
Laplace,  "  The  events,  "  he  said,  "  which  evidence  the 
action  of  Humanity,  and  are  the  product  of  its  intellect, 
have  causes  within  which  they  are  preconceived, —just 
as  our  actions  are  accomplished  in  our  thought  before 
they  are  reproduced  outside  of  us ;  presentiments  or 
prophecies  are  precognitions  of  these  causes." 

Perhaps  his  phantasy  about  angels  may  have  too  long 
influenced  his  labors  ;  but  let  us  remember  it  was  in 
searching  how  to  make  gold  that  learned  men  uncon- 
sciously created  chemistry;  nevertheless,  later,  when 
Lambert  studied  comparative  anatomy,  physics,  geome- 
try, and  the  sciences  connected  with  his  discoveries,  he 
necessarily  intended  to  assemble  facts  and  proceed  by 
analysis, —the  sole  torch  which  to-day  can  guide  us 
through  the  obscurities  of  the  least  comprehensible  of 
phenomena.  He  had  certainly  too  much  sense  to  re- 
main forever  in  the  clouds  of  theories  which  could  all 
be  formulated  in  a  few  words.  To-day  the  simplest 
demonstration  which  rests  on  facts  is  far  more  valuable 


70 


Louis  Lambert. 


than  the  finest  systems  supported  by  inductions  more 
or  less  ingenious.  But  as  I  was  not  with  him  dur- 
ing the  period  of  his  life  when  he  must  have  thought 
and  reflected  to  most  profit,  I  can  only  conjecture  the 
course  of  his  labors  from  what  I  knew  of  his  earlier 
meditations. 

It  is  easy  to  see  in  what  respect  his  "  Treatise  on 
the  Will"  was  defective.  Already  gifted  with  the 
qualities  which  distinguish  remarkable  men,  he  was 
nevertheless  still  a  child.  Though  skilful  and  affluent 
in  abstract  thought,  his  brain  was  still  influenced  by 
the  fascinating  beliefs  that  float  around  all  youthful 
spirits.  Consequently  his  conception  attained  to  the 
ripe  fruits  of  genius  at  certain  points,  while  at  a  multi- 
tude of  others  it  remained  in  the  undeveloped  state  of 
germs.  To  minds  amorous  of  poetry  his  greatest  de- 
fect would  have  seemed  the  lack  of  a  certain  unction. 
His  work  bore  marks  of  the  struggle  that  went  on  in 
his  glorious  soul  between  the  two  great  principles  of 
Spiritualism  and  Materialism ;  round  which  the  noblest 
minds  have  hovered,  without  daring  to  blend  them  into 
one.  Purely  spiritualistic  at  first,  Louis  was  irre- 
sistibly led  to  recognize  the  materialism  of  thought. 
Beaten  back  by  the  facts  of  analysis  at  the  moment 
when  his  heart  made  him  gaze  with  love  at  the  scat- 
tered clouds  in  the  heaven  of  Swedenborg,  he  had  not 
yet  the  ability  to  produce  a  compact,  homogeneous 
system,  run  at  one  casting.  From  this  incapacity  came 
several  contradictions,  which  appear  even  in  the  sketch 
I  have  made  of  his  earliest  efforts.    Yet,  however  in- 


Louis  Lambert. 


71 


complete  his  work,  it  was  surety  the  rough  draft  of  a 
science  of  which,  later,  he  would  have  fathomed  the 
mysteries,  settled  the  foundations,  searched  out,  de- 
duced, and  connected  the  developments. 

Six  months  after  the  confiscation  of  the  "Treatise  on 
the  Will,"  I  left  college.  Our  separation  was  abrupt. 
My  mother,  alarmed  by  a  feverish  condition  which  per- 
sistently clung  to  me  and  to  which  my  bodily  inaction 
gave  symptoms  of  coma,  took  me  away  from  Vendome 
at  four  or  five  hours'  notice.  When  Lambert  heard  of 
my  departure  he  fell  into  a  state  of  alarming  depression. 
We  hid  ourselves  to  weep  together. 

u  I  shall  never  see  }Tou  again,"  he  said  to  me  in  his 
gentle  voice  as  he  pressed  me  in  his  arms.  "  You  will 
live,"  he  added, 46  but  I  shall  die.  I  will  appear  to  }^ou 
if  I  can." 

We  must  be  young  indeed  to  utter  such  words  in  a 
tone  of  conviction  which  compels  their  acceptance  as  a 
prophecy,  as  a  promise,  whose  fulfilment  is  ever  to  be 
expected  with  awe.  For  a  long  subsequent  time  I 
thought  vaguely  of  this  pledged  apparition;  I  still 
have  days  of  spleen,  doubt,  terror,  or  solitude,  when  I 
am  forced  to  drive  away  the  recollection  of  that  melan- 
choly farewell ;  which,  however,  was  destined  not  to 
be  our  last.  When  I  crossed  the  courtyard  on  my  way 
out,  Lambert's  face  was  pressed  to  a  barred  window  in 
the  refectory  that  he  might  see  me  pass.  At  my  re- 
quest my  mother  asked  permission  for  him  to  dine 
with  us  at  the  inn.    That  evening  I  took  him  back  to 


72 


Louis  Lambert. 


the  fatal  threshold  of  the  college.  Lover  and.  mistress 
never  shed  more  tears  at  parting  than  we  did. 

"  Farewell ;  I  shall  be  alone  in  this  desert,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  courtyard  where  scores  of  lads  were 
shouting  and  playing.  "  When  I  come  back  wearied, 
half-dead,  from  my  long  journeys  through  the  fields  of 
thought,  on  whose  heart  shall  I  rest?  A  glance  sufficed 
to  tell  thee  all.  Who  now  will  comprehend  me  ?  Adieu  ; 
would  I  had  never  met  thee  !  I  should  not  then  know 
all  that  I  am  now  to  lose." 

"  And  I,"  I  said,  "  what  will  become  of  me?  My 
condition  will  be  dreadful  ;  I  have  nothing  here  to 
console  me,"  I  added,  striking  my  forehead. 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  movement  full  of  grace 
and  sadness,  and  we  parted. 

At  this  period  of  his  life  Louis  Lambert  was  five  feet 
two  inches  in  height,  and  he  grew  no  taller.  His  face, 
becoming  more  and  more  expressive,  gave  evidence  to 
the  sweetness  of  his  nature.  A  divine  patience,  born  of 
harsh  treatment,  the  perpetual  concentration  of  mind 
required  by  his  contemplative  habits,  had  taken  from 
his  glance  the  daring  pride  with  which  he  formerly  an- 
nihilated the  regent.  His  features  shone  with  peaceful 
feeling,.with  a  sweet  serenity  which  no  ridicule,  no  irony 
could  ever  change  ;  for  his  natural  kindliness  tempered 
his  consciousness  of  his  powers  and  his  superiority. 
He  had  handsome  hands  with  tapering  fingers,  nearly 
always  moist.  His  body  was  a  marvel  of  beauty  worthy 
of  sculpture  ;  though,  alas,  our  iron-gray  uniforms  with 
their  short  breeches  gave  us  so  awkward  an  appearance 


Louis  Lambert. 


73 


that  the  perfection  of  Lambert's  proportions  and  the 
soft  suppleness  of  his  attitudes  were  seen  only  while 
he  bathed.    When  swimming  in  our  cove  of  the  Loir, 
Louis  was  distinguished  from  the  rest  of  us  by  the 
whiteness  of  his  skin,  which  contrasted  with  the  various 
flesh- tints  of  his  comrades,  often  mottled  by  the  cold 
air,  or  purpled  by  the  water.    Delicate  in  shape,  grace- 
ful in  attitude,  softly  colored,  never  shivering  as  he  left 
the  water  (perhaps  because  he  avoided  shade  and  ran 
about  in  the  sun),  Louis  was  like  those  provident  flowers 
which  close  their  petals  to  the  north-wind  and  only 
bloom  when  the  sky  is  clear.    He  ate  very  little,  and 
drank  water  only.    Either  by  instinct  or  from  choice,  he 
was  chary  of  all  movement  which  required  an  expendi- 
ture of  strength  ;  his  gestures  were  few  and  simple,  like 
those  of  the  Orientals  or  the  Indian  nations,  in  whom 
gravity  appears  to  be  a  second  nature.    As  a  general 
thing  he  did  not  like  whatever  savored  of  particular  care 
for  his  own  person.    He  leaned  his  head  so  habitually  on 
his  left  hand,  the  elbow  resting  on  a  table,  that  the 
sleeves  of  a  new  coat  were  speedily  in  holes.    To  this 
faint  portrait  of  the  outward  man  I  ought  to  add  a 
sketch  of  his  moral  nature,  for  I  believe  myself  capable 
to-day  of  judging  it  impartially. 

Though  naturally  religious,  Louis  did  not  share  in 
the  minute  observances  of  the  Roman  Church;  his 
ideas  were  more  particularly  in  sympathy  with  those 
of  Saint  Theresa,  Fenelon,  several  of  the  Fathers,  and 
a  few  saints  who  would  be  treated  in  our  day  as  here- 
tics or  atheists.    He  was  unmoved  during  the  church 


74 


Louis  Lambert. 


services.  Prayer,  with  him,  proceeded  from  an  impulse, 
a  movement  and  elevation  of  the  spirit  which  followed 
no  regular  course ;  in  all  things  he  gave  himself  up 
to  nature,  and  would  neither  pray  nor  think  at  settled 
periods.  It  is  likely  that  in  chapel  he  thought  of  God 
as  often  as  he  pondered  some  philosophical  difficulty. 
Jesus  Christ  was  to  him  the  type  of  his  system.  Et 
verbum  caro  factum  est  was  to  him  a  sublime  utter- 
ance intended  to  express  the  traditional  formula  of 
Will,  Word,  and  Action  made  visible.  Christ  not  dis- 
cerning his  own  death ;  having  so  perfected  his  in- 
ward being  through  divine  works  that  its  invisible  form 
became,  one  day,  manifest  to  his  disciples ;  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Gospel,  the  magnetic  cures  performed  by 
Christ,  and  the  gift  of  tongues,  —  all  served  to  confirm 
his  doctrine.  I  remember  to  have  heard  him  say,  in 
this  connection,  that  the  noblest  work  to  be  done  in 
the  present  day  would  be  a  history  of  the  Primitive 
Church.  He  was  never,  to  my  knowledge,  so  far  up- 
lifted towards  poesy  as  in  a  conversation  which  led  him 
one  evening  to  examine  the  miracles  performed  by  the 
power  of  Will  during  that  grand  epoch  of  Faith.  He 
found  the  strongest  proofs  of  his  theory  in  the  martyr- 
doms of  the  first  century,  which  he  called  the  4 '  great 
era  of  thought." 

"  The  phenomena  which  happened  during  many  of 
the  tortures  so  heroically  borne  by  the  Christians  to 
establish  their  faith,  go  to  prove,"  he  said,  "  that  ma- 
terial force  will  never  prevail  against  the  power  of 
ideas  nor  against  the  will  of  man.    Each  one  of  us 


Louis  Lambert. 


75 


may  accept  this  effect  produced  by  the  will  of  all  as 
evidence  in  favor  of  our  own." 

I  think  I  ought  not  to  speak  of  Louis  Lambert's  ideas 
on  poetry  and  on  histoiy,  nor  of  his  judgments  as  to 
the  masterpieces  of  our  language.  It  is  scarcely  worth 
while  to  record  here  opinions  which  have  now  become 
common  property,  but  which  in  the  mouth  of  a  child  at 
the  time  he  uttered  them  would  have  seemed  extraor- 
dinary. Louis  wras  abreast  of  all.  To  express  his  gifts 
in  one  sentence,  I  will  say  that  he  could  have  written 
Zadig  as  brilliantly  as  Voltaire,  and  thought  out  the 
dialogue  between  Sylla  and  Eucrates  as  vigorously  as 
Montesquieu.  The  extreme  rectitude  of  his  ideas  made 
him  desire  usefulness  above  all  else  in  a  work,  just  as 
the  delicac}'  of  his  mind  craved  novelty  of  thought  as 
much  as  novelty  of  form.  Whatever  did  not  fulfil 
these  conditions  caused  him  actual  disgust.  One  of 
his  most  remarkable  literary  estimates  —  and  one 
which  may  perhaps  serve  to  show  the  character  as  well 
as  the  lucidity  of  his  judgments  —  was  the  following* 
which  has  always  remained  fastened  in  my  memory : 
u  The  Apocalypse  is  ecstasy  written  down."  He  con- 
sidered the  Bible  as  a  part  of  the  traditional  history  of 
antediluvian  peoples,  which  wTas  shared  with  the  new 
Humanity.  To  him,  the  mytholog}T  of  the  Greeks  was 
linked  with  the  Hebrew  Bible  and  with  the  sacred  books 
of  India,  all  of  which  the  Hellenes,  worshippers  of  grace, 
had  translated  after  their  fashion. 

"It  is  impossible,"  he  said,  "  to  question  the  priority 
of  the  Asiatic  Scriptures  to  our  Holy  Scriptures.  To 


76 


Louis  Lambert. 


all  who  admit  this  historical  fact  in  good  faith  the 
world  enlarges  wonderfully.    It  was  on  the  table-lands 
of  Asia  that  the  few  men  who  may  have  survived  the 
great  catastrophe  of  our  globe  took  refuge,  —  if  indeed 
humanity  existed  after  the  shock  of  that  cataclysm  ;  a 
serious  question,  whose  answer  lies  in.  the  depths  of 
ocean.    The  anthropology  of  the  Bible  is  but  the  gen- 
ealogy of  a  swarm  of  human  bees,  issuing  from  their 
hive  and  clinging  to  the  mountainous  flanks  of  Thibet, 
between  the  summits  of  the  Himalaya  and  those  of  the 
Caucasus.    The  character  of  the  first  ideas  of  the  horde 
named  by  its  law-giver  the  People  of  God  (doubtless  to 
give  it  unity,  and  possibly  to  force  it  to  preserve  his 
own  laws  and  system  of  government,  —  for  the  books  of 
Moses  are  a  code,  religious,  civil,  and  political)  is 
stamped  with  fear ;  the  convulsion  of  the  globe  is  held 
to  be  a  vengeance  from  on  high,  working  through  gigan- 
tic thoughts.    Deprived  of  the  peaceful  joys  of  a  peo- 
ple inhabiting  a  patriarchal  land,  the  sorrows  of  the 
wandering  nation  taught  them  a  sombre,  majestic,  and 
blood-thirsty  poetry.    On  the  other  hand,  the  sight  of 
earth's  quick  reparations,  the  marvellous  effects  of  the 
sun,  first  witnessed  by  the  Hindus,  inspired  the  Orient 
peoples,  with  their  smiling  conceptions  of  happy  love, 
fire-worship,  and  the  endless  personifications  of  repro- 
duction.   Those  magnificent  images  are  lacking  to  the 
Hebrews.    A  constant  necessity  for  preservation  amid 
the  dangers  and  distances  to  be  traversed  to  the  land 
of  promise  begot  the  feeling  of  exclusiveness  among 
the  peculiar  people,  and  their  hatred  to  other  nations. 


Louis  Lambert. 


77 


These  three  Scriptures  are  the  archives  of  an  ingulfed 
world.  In  them  lies  the  secret  of  the  untold  grandeur 
of  their  languages  and  their  myths.  A  vast  human  his- 
tory is  buried  beneath  these  names  of  men  and  places, 
beneath  these  fictions,  which  we  cling  to  irresistibly, 
yet  without  knowing  why.  Perhaps  in  their  presence 
we  breathe  the  native  air  of  our  new  humanity." 

To  Louis  this  triple  literature  contained  all  the 
thoughts  of  man.  "No  book,"  he  said,  44  was  ever 
written  whose  germ  does  not  lie  there."  This  opinion 
shows  how  learned  and  how  profound  were  his  first 
studies  of  the  Bible,  and  the  distance  to  which  they  led 
him.  Ever  soaring  above  social  existence,  of  which 
he  knew  nothing  except  through  books,  he  judged  it 
coolly.  44  Laws,"  he  said,  44  never  interfere  with  the 
enterprises  of  the  rich  and  great ;  they  strike  the  feeble, 
who  ought,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  protected." 

Thus  his  natural  kindliness  kept  him  from  sympathy 
with  political  ideas  ;  yet  his  system  led  to  that  passive 
obedience  whose  exemplar  was  Jesus  Christ.  During 
the  latter  period  of  my  stay  at  Vendome,  Louis  no 
longer  felt  a  spur  to  fame ;  he  had,  in  a  certain  way, 
abstractly  experienced  it,  and  after  cutting  it  open, 
like  the  -priests  of  ancient  sacrifice  seeking  portents  in 
the  hearts  of  human  victims,  he  had  found  nothing 
in  the  womb  of  that  chimera.  Despising,  therefore, 
a  sentiment  so  wholly  personal,  he  once  said  to 
me,  44  Fame  is  deified  egoism." 

Before  leaving  this  period  of  an  exceptional  child- 
hood I  ought  perhaps  to  offer  a  judgment  upon  it. 


78 


Louis  Lambert. 


Some  time  before  our  separation  Louis  said  to  me : 
"  Apart  from  those  general  laws,  the  formulation  of 
which  may  one  day  bring  me  fame,  and  which  must 
necessarily  be  those  of  our  organism,  man's  life  is  a 
movement  determined  in  each  individual  at  the  bidding 
of  some  hidden  influence  or  impulse,  either  of  the 
Brain,  the  Heart,  or  the  Nerves.  From  those  three 
systems,  represented  by  three  common  words,  the  end- 
less types  of  Humanity  are  derived,  all  of  which  result 
from  the  proportion  in  which  the  three  generating  prin- 
ciples are  more  or  less  thoroughly  combined  with  the 
substances  which  they  assimilate  in  the  centres  where 
they  exist."  He  stopped  short,  struck  his  forehead 
and  exclaimed,  64  Strange  fact!  all  the  great  men 
whose  portraits  I  have  seen  are  short-necked.  Per- 
haps Nature  decreed  that  in  them  the  heart  should  be 
nearer  the  brain."  Presently  he  resumed,  "From  this 
comes  a  certain  uniformity  of  action  which  makes  up 
social  existence.  To  the  man  of  Nerve,  Action,  —  that 
is,  force ;  to  the  man  of  Brain,  Genius ;  to  the  man  of 
Heart,  Faith.  But,"  he  added,  sadly,  "  to  Faith,  the 
Clouds  of  the  Sanctuary;  to  the  Angel  alone  comes 
Light."  Taking  his  own  definitions,  Lambert  was  all 
heart  and  all  brain. 

To  me,  the  life  of  his  mind  is  divided  into  three 
phases. 

Urged  from  his  infanc}7  to  precocious  activity,  caused 
no  doubt  b}T  some  malady  or  some  perfection  of  his 
organs,  his  forces  concentrated  themselves  on  the 
working  of  his  inward  faculties  and  on  the  superabun- 


Louis  Lambert. 


79 


dant  production  of  the  nervous  fluid.  A  creature  of 
ideas,  he  sought  to  quench  the  thirst  of  a  brain  which 
longed  to  assimilate  all  ideas.  Hence,  his  reading, 
and  from  his  reading  his  reflections,  which  gave  him 
power  to  reduce  things  to  their  simplest  expression, 
to  absorb  them  within  himself  that  he  might  study 
them  in  their  essence.  The  benefits  of  this  magnifi- 
cent period  of  his  mind's  training,  which  come  to  other 
men  only  as  the  result  of  long  study,  fell  to  Louis 
during  his  bodily  childhood,  — a  happy  childhood,  col- 
ored with  the  studious  felicities  of  a  poem.  The  limit 
which  most  brains  attain  was  the  point  of  departure 
from  which  his  was  one  day  to  start  in  search  of  new 
regions  of  intelligence.  He  thus  created  for  himself, 
without  as  yet  knowing  what  he  did,  the  most  exacting 
of  lives,  and  the  most  insatiable.  Merely  to  exist,  he 
was  forced  to  throw  incessant  nourishment  into  the  gulf 
he  had  opened  within  him.  Like  certain  beings  of  the 
mundane  regions,  he  was  liable  to  perish  for  want  of 
nutriment  to  intemperate  and  balked  appetites.  Was 
it  not,  in  fact,  a  debauchery  of  the  soul,  which  might 
bring  it,  like  certain  bodies  saturated  with  alcohol,  to 
spontaneous  combustion  ? 

This  earliest  mental  phase  I  knew  nothing  of.  Not 
until  the  present  day  have  I  explained  to  myself  its 
amazing  fructifications  and  results.  Lambert  was  then 
thirteen  3-ears  old. 

I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  with  him  in  the  first 
years  of  the  second  stage,  during  which  Lambert  (and 
it  may  have  been  this  that  saved  him)  endured  all  the 


80 


Louis  Lambert. 


wretchedness  of  school  life  and  expended  the  super- 
abundance of  his  thought.    After  passing  from  things 
to  their  simplest  terms,  from  words  to  their  ideal  sub- 
stance, from  that  substance  to  principles, —in  short, 
after  abstracting  all,  he  still  aspired,  as  a  necessity  of 
life,  to  other  intellectual  creations.     Subdued  by  his 
college  sufferings  and  by  the  crises  of  his  physical  life, 
he  continued  meditative,  divined  feelings,  foresaw  new 
sciences  and  vast  masses  of  ideas.     Checked  in  his 
course,  and  too  feeble  as  yet  to  contemplate  the  upper 
.  spheres,  his  eyes  turned  inward  in  self-contemplation. 
He  showed  me  then  the  struggle  of  thought  reacting 
against  itself,  and  seeking  to  discover  the  secrets  of  its 
own  nature,  as  a  doctor  studies  the  progress  of  his 
own  malady.    In  this  state  of  strength  and  weak- 
ness, childlike  grace  and  superhuman  power,  Louis 
Lambert  gave  me  the  most  poetic  and  the  truest  idea 
of  the  being  whom  we  call  angel,  —  excepting  always 
one  woman  whose  name,  person,  and  life  it  is  my  wish 
to  withhold  from  the  world,  so  that  I  alone  may  know 
the  secret  of  her  existence  and  bury  it  forever  in  my 
heart. 

The  third  phase  of  Lambert's  mental  life  escaped  me. 
It  must  have  begun  after  I  parted  from  him ;  perhaps 
when  he  left  college  in  1815, -being  then  eighteen 
years  old.  He  had  lost  his  father  and  mother  during 
the  preceding  six  months.  Finding  no  one  in  his  fam- 
ily with  whom  his  soul  — naturally  expansive,  but  since 
our  separation  always  repressed  —  could  sympathize, 
he  took  refuge  with  his  uncle,  now  his  guardian,  who, 


Louis  Lambert 


81 


deposed  from  his  parish  for  having  taken  the  oath,  now 
lived  in  obscurity  at  Blois.  There  Louis  stayed  for 
some  time,  until,  driven  by  the  desire  to  pursue  his 
studies,  which  he  felt  were  incomplete,  he  went  to  Paris 
to  seek  Madame  de  Stael,  and  to  drink  in  science  at 
the  fountain-head.  The  old  priest,  having  a  great  affec- 
tion for  his  nephew,  allowed  Louis  to  spend  his  patri- 
mony on  a  three  years'  sojourn  in  Paris,  —  though  even 
so  the  young  man  lived  in  the  utmost  poverty,  for  his 
inheritance  was  small.  Lambert  returned  to  Blois  at 
the  beginning  of  the  year  1820,  driven  from  Paris  by 
sufferings  which  all  persons  without  means  are  com- 
pelled to  endure  there.  During  his  stay,  he  must  often 
have  been  a  prey  to  inward  storms,  to  those  horrible 
tempests  of  thought  which  shake  the  artistic  soul,  if 
we  may  judge  by  the  only  fact  his  uncle  could  remem- 
ber, and  the  only  letter  the  good  man  had  preserved  of 
the  many  Louis  wrote  him  at  that  period,  —  a  letter 
which  probably  owed  its  preservation  to  the  fact  that 
it-was^the  last  and  longest  of  all. 

Here,  in  the  first  place,  is  the  fact.  Louis  was  sit- 
ting one  evening  on  a  bench  in  the  second  gallery  of 
the  Theatre-Frangais,  near  one  of  the  columns  between 
which  in  those  days  were  the  third  tier  of  boxes.  Ris- 
ing during  the  first  intermission,  he  saw  a  young  lady 
who  had  just  entered  the  adjoining  box.  The  sight  of 
this  woman,  }'Oung,  beautiful,  and  well-dressed,  possi- 
bly with  bare  neck  and  arms,  accompanied  by  a  lover 
on  whom  she  smiled  with  all  the  grace  of  happy  love, 
produced  so  cruel  an  effect  upon  the  soul  and  senses  of 

6 


82 


Louis  Lambert. 


Louis  Lambert  that  lie  was  obliged  to  leave  the  theatre. 
If  he  had  not  used  the  last  gleams  of  his  reason,  which, 
in  the  first  moment  of  this  fiery  passion,  did  not  en- 
tirely desert  him,  he  might  have  succumbed  to  an 
almost  unconquerable  desire  to  kill  the  young  man  at 
whom  the  woman  looked.  It  was,  in  the  midst  of  our 
world  of  Paris,  a  flash  of  the  love  of  a  savage  darting 
on  woman  as  on  a  prey,  the  effect  of  a  bestial  instinct 
joined  to  the  rapid  and  ever  luminous  outburst  of  a 
soul  hitherto  held  down  under  the  weight  of  thought. 
Was  it  not,  in  fact,  the  imaginary  cut  of  a  penknife, 
once  felt  by  the  child,  now  becoming  to  the  man  the 
thunderbolt  of  his  most  imperious  need,  that  of 
love  ? 

Here  follows  the  letter,  in  which  is  portrayed  the  state 
of  his  soul  when  struck  by  the  spectacle  of  Parisian  civ- 
ilization. His  heart,  constantly  wounded  in  that  gulf 
of  egoism,  must  have  suffered  continually;  probably  he 
found  neither  friends  to  console  nor  enemies  to  give 
vigor  to  his  life.  Constrained  to  live  incessantly  within 
himself  and  to  share  with  none  his  exquisite  inward  joys, 
perhaps  he  may  have  wished  to  solve  the  work  of  his 
life  through  ecstasy,  to  lead  an  almost  vegetable  exist- 
ence, like  an  anchorite  of  the  early  Church,  abdicating 
thus  his  empire  in  the  world  of  intellect.  At  any  rate 
the  letter  seems  to  indicate  some  such  project,  to  which 
great  souls  have  been  prone  at  all  epochs  of  social  re- 
generation. But  is  not  such  a  resolution  taken  by  cer- 
tain minds  the  result  of  natural  vocation  ?  Are  they  not 
instinctively  seeking  to  concentrate  their  forces  in  a  long 


Louis  Lambert. 


83 


silence  that  they  may  issue  from  it  fit  to  govern  the  world 
by  Word  or  Action  ?  Louis  must,  assuredly,  have  reaped 
bitterness  among  men,  or  have  attacked  society  with 
some  terrible  irony,  and  resultlessly,  before  he  uttered 
so  vigorous  a  cry ,  before  he  came,  —  he,  poor  and  help- 
less,—  to  a  desire  which  weariness  of  power  and  of  all 
things  under  heaven  has  inspired  in  certain  sovereigns. 
Perhaps,  too,  he  hoped  to  achieve  in  solitude  the  great 
wrork  which  ever  floated  unfinished  in  his  mind.  Who 
will  not  readily  believe  this  as  they  read  the  following 
fragment  of  his  thoughts,  which  betrays  the  struggles 
of  his  soul  at  the  moment  when,  for  him,  youth  was 
passing  away  and  the  awful  faculty  of  production — to 
which  the  works  of  the  matured  man  would  have  been 
due  —  was  about  to  be  born  ? 

This  letter  bears  relation  to  the  incident  at  the  thea- 
tre. The  Fact  and  the  Written  Word  throw  light  upon 
each  other ;  the  soul  and  the  bod}'  were  tuned  to  the 
same  key.  This  tempest  of  doubt  and  affirmation,  of 
clouds  and  vivid  flashes  through  which  the  thunder 
bursts,  and  wThich  ends  in  ardent  aspiration  flaming  up- 
ward to  celestial  Light,  reveals  enough  of  the  third 
phase  of  his  mental  training  to  afford  a  comprehension 
of  the  whole.  Eeading  these  pages  written  at  random, 
continued  and  discontinued  according  to  the  caprices  of 
the  moment,  may  we  not  fancy  that  we  see  an  oak  at 
the  period  when  its  inward  expansion  bursts  the  green 
sheath  of  its  stem,  gnarls  it,  covers  it  with  fissures,  and 
so  prepares  for  the  majestic  tree,  if  the  thunder  of 
heaven  and  the  axe  of  man  respect  it? 


84 


Louis  Lambert. 


The  letter  ends,  for  the  thinker  as  well  as  for  the 
poet,  this  august  childhood,  this  uncomprehended  youth. 
The  seed  has  swelled  and  germinated.  Philosophers 
may  regret  the  foliage,  struck  with  frost  ere  it  bur- 
geoned, but  they  shall  one  clay  see  the  perfect  flower 
blooming  in  regions  higher  far  than  the  highest  places 
of  the  earth. 

Paris,  September-November,  1819. 
Dear  Uncle,  —  I  am  about  to  leave  this  place,  where 
I  cannot  exist.  I  find  no  man  who  loves  what  I  love  ; 
who  concerns  himself  with  what  I  am  concerned  with  ; 
who  wonders  at  the  things  I  wonder  at.  Forced  back 
upon  myself,  I  sound  my  own  being,  and  I  suffer.  The 
long  and  patient  study  I  have  given  to  this  Society  has 
brought  me  to  sad  conclusions  where  doubt  predom- 
inates. Here,  in  Paris,  money  is  the  pivot  of  all  things. 
Men  must  have  money  even  to  do  without  money.  And 
yet,  though  gold  is  essential  to  whoever  desires  to 
think  tranquilly,  I  have  not  the  courage  to  make  it 
the  prime  mover  of  my  thoughts.  To  amass  a  fortune 
one  must  choose  a  calling;  in  a  word,  purchase  by 
some  licensed  position  or  custom,  by  legal  or  other 
privilege  cleverly  created,  the  right  of  taking  from  an- 
other man's  purse  a  trifling  sum  which,  yearly,  produces 
a  little  capital,  which  in  twenty  years  will  barely  give 
an  income  of  four  or  five  thousand  francs,  —  if  a  man 
conducts  himself  honorably.  In  fifteen  or  sixteen  years 
from  their  apprenticeship,  lawyers,  notaries,  and  mer- 
chants, —  in  fact,  all  licensed  workers,  —  have  earned 
a  support  for  their  old  age. 


Louis  Lambert. 

I  am  not  fit  for  anything  of  the  kind.  I  prefer 
thought  to  action,  ideas  to  business,  meditation  to 
movement.  I  am  essentially  Jacking  in  the  close  atten- 
tion necessary  to  whoever  desires  to  make  Ins  fortune 

moLvToCantHe  ent6rPriSe'         °bligati0n  t0 

nd  I  s  Pei'SOnS'  W°Uld  l6ad  me  int°  double 

and  I  should  soon  be  ruined.    If  I  own  notw 

leas     owe  nothing.    The  man  who  lives  to  accon^  i&h 
great  thlngs  in  the  moral  sphere  needs  but  little  mate 
m  y ;  and  yet  though  twenty  sous  a  day  suffices  me 

Idsur      tl  tT  P°SrSS         StipeUd  f°r  ^' Morions 

frl  L  rT      meditat6'  WMt  drives  ^mind 

ftom  the  peaceful  sanctuary  where  thought  revolves. 
What  wdl  become  of  me  ?    I  have  no  dread  of  povertv 
If  m^nsonment,  disgrace,  and  contempt  did  not  follow 
menchcancy,  I  would  beg,  to  be  enabled  to  solve  in 
peace  the  problems  which  fill  my  mind 

■  But  such  an  abnegation,  through  which  I  might  eman- 
cipate my  thought  by  liberating  my  body  of  I  car  s 
would  avaxl  me  nothing;  I  should  stm  Je(J  ^ 
ce.  am  experiences.    Were  it  not  for  this,  I  would  wilT 
nglj  accept  the  apparent  indigence  of  the  thinker,  who 

eit>  it  suffices  never  to  abase  ourselves.  The  man  who 
juggles  and  who  suffers  as  he  advances  fowl *  a 

these  ZIShnd:f  a8Plendid  SP6CtaCle;        **»  * 
lee  ff     !   A'116  Stl"ength  t0  Straggk?    ^  may 
e  chff  ;  but  to  tramp  forever  in  the  mud  is  another 
ttnng.    Here,  m  Paris,  all  things  discourage  the  direct 
and.  upward  flight  of  a  mind  tending  towels  fofo^ 


86 


Louis  Lambert. 


I  should  not  fear  myself  in  a  desert  grotto ;  I  do  fear 
myself  here.  In  the  desert  I  should  be  mine  own,  with- 
out distraction  ;  here,  man  is  conscious  of  many  wants 
which  belittle  him.  When  he  walks  out,  dreamy  and 
preoccupied,  a  pauper's  voice  recalls  him  to  this  world 
of  hunger  and  of  thirst.  He  needs  money  even  to  walk 
the  streets.  His  organs,  incessantly  on  the  strain  about 
mere  nothings,  know  no  rest.  The  nervous  fibres  of  a 
poet  are  perpetually  shaken,  and  that  which  should  be 
his  glory  is  Here  his  torment  •,  his  imagination  becomes 
his  cruellest  enemy.  In  Paris,  the  wounded  laborer,  or 
his  lying-in  wife,  the  sick  prostitute,  the  abandoned 
child,  the  infirm  old  man,  vices,  even  crimes,  find  suc- 
cor and  an  asylum  ;  yet  society  is  pitiless  to  the  in- 
ventor and  to  every  man  who  lives  in  meditation. 
Here,  all  things  must  have  an  immediate  and  actual 
result.  Men  laugh  at  the  first  ineffectual  attempts 
which  may  lead  to  vast  discoveries  ;  they  set  no  value 
on  that  deep  and  constant  study  which  needs  a  pro- 
longed concentration  of  our  powers.  The  State  could 
pay  for  talent  as  it  pays  for  bayonets  ;  but  no,  it  dreads 
being  cheated  bv  the  man  of  intellect,  —  as  if  genius 
could  long  be  counterfeited ! 

Ah!  my  uncle,  when  they  swept  away  conventual 
solitudes,  nestling  in  the  valleys,  clinging  to  the  hill- 
sides in  green  umbrageous  silence,  they  should  have 
built  hospitals  for  suffering  souls  who,  by  a  single 
thought,  beget  the  progress  of  the  nations,  or  discover* 
new  and  fruitful  developments  of  a  science. 


Louis  Lambert. 


87 


September. 

Pursuit  of  knowledge  brought  me  here,  as  you  know. 
I  have  found  men  who  are  truly  learned  ;  most  of  them 
surprisingly  so ;  but  an  absence  of  unity  among  scien- 
tific workers  neutralizes  nearly  all  their  efforts.  Neither 
instruction  nor  science  has  a  Head.    You  will  hear  a 
professor  at  the  Museum  proving  that  what  another 
professor  teaches  you  in  the  rue  Saint-Jacques  is  arrant 
nonsense.    The  man  at  the  College  of  France  laughs  at 
him  of  the  School  of  Medicine.    Soon  after  my  arrival, 
I  went  to  hear  an  old  academician  who  told  five  hun- 
dred young  men  that  Corneille  was  a  bold  and  vigorous 
genius,  Racine  elegiac  and  tender,  Moliere  inimitable, 
Voltaire  eminently  witty,  Bossuet  and  Pascal  unconquer- 
ably strong.    A  professor  of  philosophy  attains  celeb- 
rity by  explaining  how  Plato  is  — Plato.  Another 
lectures  on  the  history  of  words  and  never  mentions 
ideas.  This  one  elucidates  JEschylus  ;  that  other  proves 
with  eminent  success  that  the  Communes  were  Com- 
munes and  nothing  else.    Such  novel  and  luminous 
disquisitions,  amplified  for  hours,  constitute  the  higher 
education  which  purposes  to  lead  human  knowledge 
onward  by  giant  strides.    If  government  could  think, 
I  should  suspect  it  of  fearing  superior  intellects,  which, 
when  awakened,  would  put  society  under  the  yoke  of  a 
mind-power.    Nations  would  then  advance  too  far,  too 
fast;  professors  are  therefore  ordered  to  bring  up 
fools. 

How  else  can  you  explain  educational  bodies  without 
system,  without  one  idea  on  futurity?    The  Institute 


88 


Louis  Lambert. 


might  be  the  great  governor  of  the  moral  and  intellectual 
world,  but  it  has  recently,  by  its  constitution,  broken 
itself  up  into  separate  academies.  Human  knowledge 
is  advancing  without  a  guide,  without  a  system;  it 
floats  at  the  mercy  of  chance ;  no  appointed  way  is 
traced  out  for  it. 

The  same  easy  indifference,  the  same  instability,  is 
seen  in  politics  as  in  science.  In  the  order  of  nature 
the  means  are  simple,  the  end  is  great  and  marvel- 
lous ;  with  us,  in  science  or  in  government,  the  means 
are  vast,  the  end  is  petty.  That  force  which  in  nature 
moves  with  equal  step,  ever  adding  its  total  to  itself, 
that  a-\-a  which  produces  all,  is  destructive  in  Societ}\ 
Statecraft  pits  human  forces  against  one  another  for 
the  purpose  of  neutralizing  them,  instead  of  forcing 
them  to  combine  and  act  to  common  ends.  Taking 
Europe,  and  considering  it  from  Caesar  to  Constantine, 
from  the  little  Constantine  to  the  great  Attila,  from  the 
Huns  to  Charlemagne,  from  Charlemagne  to  Leo  X., 
from  Leo  X.  to  Philip  II.,  from  Philip  II.  to  Louis  XIV., 
from  Venice  to  England,  from  England  to  Napoleon, 
from  Napoleon  to  England,  I  see  no  fixedness  in  public 
policy ;  its  constant  disturbance  has  brought  it  no  pro- 
gress. Nations  testify  to  their  grandeur  by  monuments, 
and  to  their  happiness  by  individual  welfare.  Are  mod- 
ern monuments  equal  to  those  of  antiquity?  I  doubt 
it.  The  arts  which  proceed  direct  from  the  individual, 
the  productions  of  genius  or  of  the  human  hand,  have 
advanced  but  little.  The  enjoyments  of  Lucullus  were 
fully  equal  to  those  of  Samuel  Bernard,  de  Beaujon,  or 


Louis  Lambert. 


89 


the  King  of  Bavaria.  Even  human  longevity  has  les- 
sened. To  those  who  judge  honestly,  nothing  has  really 
changed  ;  man  continues  the  same  ;  might  is  the  sole 
law  ;  success  the  sole  virtue.  Jesus  Christ,  Mohammed, 
Luther,  have  merely  given  different  hues  to  the  spheres 
in  which  the  youthful  nations  made  their  evolutions. 
No  statecraft  has  hindered  Civilization,  with  its  wealth, 
its  manners  and  customs,  its  banding  of  the  strong 
against  the  weak,  its  ideas  and  its  pleasures,  from 
spreading  from  Memphis  to  Tyre,  from  Tyre  to  Balbek, 
from  Tadmor  to  Carthage,  from  Carthage  to  Rome,  from 
Rome  to  Constantinople,  from  Constantinople  to  Venice, 
from  Venice  to  Spain,  from  Spain  to  England,  without 
one  vestige  remaining  of  Memphis,  Tyre,  Carthage, 
Rome,  Venice,  or  Madrid.  The  spirit  of  those  great 
bodies,  has  fled.  Not  one  saved  itself  from  the  wreck  ; 
none  divined  this  truth  :  when  the  effect  produced  is  no 
longer  in  relation  to  its  cause,  disorganization  has 
begun. 

The  subtlest  genius  cannot  discover  any  connection 
between  those  great  social  facts.  No  political  theory 
has  survived.  Governments  passed  away  like  men, 
without  transmitting  instruction  ;  no  system  gave  birth 
to  a. more  perfect  system  than  the  preceding  one.  What 
shall  we  think  of  human  politics  when  a  government 
leaning  upon  God  perished  in  India  and  in  Egypt ;  when 
the  governments  of  the  sabre  and  the  tiara  have  passed 
away ;  when  the  government  of  the  One  dies,  and  the 
government  of  the  All  has  never  been  able  to  live  ;  when 
no  conception  of  intelligent  force  applied  to  material 


90 


Louis  Lambert. 


interests  has  lasted,  and  all  things  have  to  be  done  anew 
to-day  as  throughout  the  ages  during  which  man  has 
cried  aloud,  "  I  suffer  !  "  The  Code,  which  people  call 
Napoleon's  greatest  work,  is  the  most  Draconian  set  of 
laws  I  know.  Territorial  division  pushed  to  an  extreme 
(and  the  Code  sanctions  the  principle  by  its  equal  dis- 
tribution of  property)  must  result  in  the  degeneracy 
of  the  nation,  and  the  death  of  the  arts  and  sciences. 
Divide  the  soil  too  closely,  and  cereals  or  vegetables 
will  alone  be  cultivated ;  the  forests,  and  consequently 
the  water-courses,  will  disappear ;  neither  cattle  nor 
horses  will  be  raised.  Means  of  attack  and  defence 
will  alike  be  wanting.  Let  an  invader  come,  and  the 
nation  is  crushed ;  it  has  lost  its  mainspring ;  it  has  no 
head.    That  is  the  history  of  deserts  ! 

Human  politics  are  therefore  a  science  without  settled 
principles,  without  any  possible  fixity.  They  spring 
from  the  genius  of  the  moment,  and  are  the  constant 
application  of  power  following  the  daily  necessity  as  it 
arises.  The  man  who  sees  two  centuries  ahead  of  him 
dies  on  a  scaffold,  loaded  with  the  imprecations  of  a 
people  ;  or  (which  seems  to  me  worse)  is  lashed  by  the 
whips  of  ridicule.  Nations  are  individuals  who  are  nei- 
ther wiser  nor  stronger  than  man  himself,  and  their  des- 
tiny is  the  same  as  his.  If  you  reflect  upon  one  you 
are  reflecting  on  the  other.  From  the  spectacle  of  this 
society,  perpetually  shaken  and  harassed  at  its  founda- 
tions as  in  its  results,  in  its  causes  as  in  its  action, — 
a  society  within  which  philanthropy  is  a  magnificent 
error,  and  progress  a  meaningless  cry,  —  I  gained 


Louis  Lambert.  91 

confirmation  of  this  truth,  —  namely,  that  life  is  within 
us  and  not  without  us  ;  that  to  rise  above  our  fellows 
for  the  purpose  of  commanding  them  is  only  to  magnify 
the  career  of  a  schoolmaster ;  and  that  men  who  are 
strong  enough  to  lift  themselves  to  the  level  at  which 
they  can  enjoy  the  sight  of  worlds  ought  not  to  turn  their 
gaze  upon  their  feet. 

November  4:th. 

I  am  filled  with  significant  thoughts;   I  advance 
toward  certain  discoveries;  some  invincible  force  is 
drawing  me  to  a  star  which  has  long  glimmered  in  the 
twilight  of  my  moral  being  :  but  what  name  must  I  give 
to  the  power  which  ties  my  hands,  shuts  my  mouth,  and 
drags  me  away  from  my  vocation  ?   I  am  forced  to  leave 
Paris  ;  I  must  bid  farewell  to  books,  to  libraries,  to  those 
glorious  centres  of  light,  to  learned  men,  so  kind  and  so 
accessible,  to  youths  of  genius  with  whom  I  sympathized. 
What  is  it  drives  me  hence?    Is  it  Chance?  is  it  Provi- 
dence ?    The  two  ideas  represented  by  those  words  are 
irreconcilable.   If  there  is  no  such  thing  as  Chance  then 
we  must  admit  Fatalism,  or  the  enforced  co-ordination 
of  things  under  a  general  plan.    Why,  then,  should  we 
resist?    If  man  is  not  a  free  agent,  what  becomes  of 
the  scaffolding  of  his  morality  ?    But  if  he  can  make  his 
own  destiny,  if  he  can,  by  his  own  free-will,  arrest  the 
accomplishment  of  the  general  plan,  what  becomes  of 
God  ?    Why  am  I  here  ?    If  I  examine  myself  I  think  I 
know  why,  —  I  find  within  me  themes  to  be  developed  ; 
but  if  so,  why  do  I  possess  enormous  faculties  without 
being  able  to  use  them?    If  my  torture  could  serve  as 


92 


Louis  Lambert. 


an  example,  I  could  understand  it,  but  no,  I  suffer  in 
obscurity.  This  condition  is  perhaps  as  providential  as 
the  fate  of  a  hidden  flower  withering  in  the  depths  of  a 
virgin  forest,  with  none  to  inhale  its  fragrance  or  admire 
its  lustre.  Like  that  flower,  shedding  perfume  in  the 
solitary  places,  I  give  birth  here,  in  a  garret,  to  ideas 
which  are  never  grasped. 

Yesterday,  I  was  eating  my  bread  and  grapes  in  the 
evening,  sitting  before  my  window  with  a  young  physi- 
cian, named  Meyraux.  We  were  talking  as  men  talk 
who  are  made  brothers  by  misfortune,  and  I  said  to 
him  :  "  I  go,  but  you  remain  ;  take  my  conceptions  and 
develop  them."  "  I  cannot,"  he  answered,  with  mourn- 
ful bitterness  ;  "my  health  is  too  feeble  to  sustain  my 
present  labors  ;  I  shall  die  young,  struggling  with  pov- 
erty." We  looked  at  the  sky  and  pressed  each  other's 
hands.  Meyraux  and  I  had  met  at  the  Comparative 
Anatomy  lectures  and  in  the  galleries  of  the  Museum, 
both  following  the  same  study;  namely,  the  unity  of 
geological  composition.  In  him,  it  was  inspired  by  the 
presentiment  of  genius  seeking  to  open  a  way  through 
the  uncultivated  regions  of  the  intellect ;  I  sought,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  deduction  of  a  general  system.  My 
thought  has  always  been  to  determine  the  actual  rela- 
tions which  exist  between  man  and  God.  Is  not  that  a 
necessity  of  our  epoch  ?  Without  high  convictions  and 
certainties  it  is  impossible  to  curb  the  societies  which 
the  spirit  of  criticism  and  discussion  have  set  free,  and 
which  cry  aloud  in  these  days,  "Lead  us  in  a  path 
where  there  are  no  abysses." 


Louis  Lambert. 


93 


You  will  ask  me  what  comparative  anatomy  lias  to 
clo  with  a  question  so  important  to  the  future  of  soci- 
ety. Must  we  not  be  convinced  that  man  is  the  end 
and  object  of  all  terrestrial  means  and  methods  be- 
fore we  can  ask  whether  he  may  not  himself  be  the 
means  to  some  end?  If  man  is  linked  to  all  around 
him,  is  there  nothing  above  him  to  which  he  links  him- 
self ?  If  he  be  the  end-all  of  the  inexplicable  trans- 
mutations which  ascend  as  far  as  he,  must  he  not  also 
be  the  nexus  that  attaches  visible  nature  to  an  invis- 
ible nature?  The  action  of  the  universe  is  not  mere 
folly, — it  must  attain  some  end;  and  that  end  cannot 
be  a  society  constituted  like  ours.  A  frightful  void  lies 
between  us  and  heaven.  In  our  present  state  we  can 
neither  always  enjoy  nor  always  surfer ;  must  there  not 
come  some  mighty  change  before  we  can  enter  heaven 
or  hell,  —  two  conceptions  without  which  God  does  not 
exist  to  the  mass  of  men? 

I  know  this  point  has  been  evaded  by  inventing  the 
soul ;  but  I  have  a  certain  repugnance  to  making  God 
conjointly  responsible  for  human  baseness,  for  our  dis- 
illusions, our  loathings,  our  degeneracy.  Besides,  can 
we  admit  that  we  hold  within  us  a  divine  essence  which 
a  'few 'drams  of  alcohol  may  overthrow?  Can  we  im- 
agine immaterial  faculties  which  matter  subjugates,  and 
whose  exercise  is  controlled  by  a  grain  of  opium  ?  Can 
we  conceive  that  we  shall  still  feel  when  the  conditions 
of  sensation  are  withdrawn  from  us  ?  Why  should  God 
perish  because  substance  is  a  thinking  quantity!  Is 
the  animation  of  substance  and  its  innumerable  vari- 


Q4  Louis  Lambert. 

the  etfecte  of  thought?  I»  the  mono 

completer  insUnct?  H  he-         P  by 
which  may  no  ^  » of 
evidence,  is  it  not  lug* tin^  t g       1     ^  ^ 

written  in  the  ^f^i  We  take  very  little 
return  to  philosophical  «aence.  u  but 

der  «  account  of  the  push  Yet  rt  .« 

if  we  are  welded  to  the  future  , 

Was  the  world  created.  ^ 
„etwcea  the  two  IWJ^.  ^  W Mchever  he  your 

t°it,cc  itc  ;  aod  that  la  equivalent  to  hts  nega- 
T  , !v  to  ftc  world  is  eternal,  »"  «*  *»SU°°  'S 
tl0°-  Sa\!"  „i_God  has  undergone  it.  Suppose 
no  longer  doubtful,     c  no  J 

tte  world  .0  have  b«.  «*»  •  ^°        cteraitJ.  alld 

P°:f:w  t^h« -to  confe  to  hi.  *  create 
:S        !«ia.  —  ««  .0  foreauow  it. 


Louis  Lambert. 


95 


results  ?  Whence  did  he  derive  its  essence  ?  From  him- 
self necessarily.  If  the  world  issued  from  God,  how 
can  we  admit  evil  ?  If  evil  issues  from  good,  we  plunge 
into  absurdity.  If  there  is  no  such  thing  as  evil,  what 
are  the  laws  of  society?  Precipices  on  all  sides,  abysses 
for  human  reason  everywhere  !  No,  social  science  must 
be  rebuilt  from  its  foundations. 

Listen  to  me,  uncle.  Till  some  great  genius  explains 
the  manifest  inequality  of  intellects,  the  common  under- 
standing of  humanity,  the  word  God  will  ever  be  im- 
peached, and  society-  will  rest  on  shifting  sands.  The 
secret  of  the  different  moral  zones  through  which  man 
passes  will  be  found  in  the  analysis  of  Animality  in  all 
its  parts.  Up  to  the  present  time  Animality  has  been 
considered  in  relation  to  its  differences  only,  and  not 
in  its  similitudes ;  in  its  organic  appearances,  but  not 
in  its  faculties.  The  animal  faculties  are  coming  nearer 
and  nearer  to  perfection,  according  to  laws  we  have  still 
to  find.  These  faculties  correspond  to  the  forces  which 
bring  them  into  pla}',  and  those  forces  are  essentially 
material  and  divisible.  Material  faculties  !  Reflect 
upon  those  two  words.  Do  they  not  offer  a  question 
as  insoluble  as  that  of  the  communication  of  movement 
to  matter?  —  a  depth  still  unexplored,  the  difficulties  of 
which  were  displaced  rather  than  removed  by  Newton. 

Again,  the  constant  combination  of  light  with  all  that 
lives  upon  this  earth  demands  a  new  examination  of  the 
globe.  The  same  animal  differs  from  itself  in  torrid 
regions,  in  the  Indies,  or  at  the  North.  Between 
the  zones  of  the  vertical  and  the  oblique  sun-rays  it 


96 


Louis  Lambert. 


develops  a  dissimilar  yet  parallel  nature,  which,  being 
the  same  in  its  essence,  does  not  resemble  itself,  one  way 
or  the  other  way,  in  its  results./  The  phenomenon  which 
blinds  our  eyes  in  the  zoological  world  when  we  com- 
pare the  butterflies  of  Bengal  with  the  butterflies  of 
Europe  is  more  remarkable  still  in  the  moral  world.  A 
certain  facial  angle  and  a  given  number  of  brain-folds 
were  required  to  attain  to  Columbus,  Raphael,  Napoleon, 
Laplace,  or  Beethoven  ;  the  sunless  valley  produces  the 
cretin.  Draw  your  own  conclusions.  /How  do  you  ac- 
count for  these  differences,  clue  to  the  greater  or  the 
lesser  distillation  of  light  into  man  ?  /The  vast  suffering 
masses  of  humanity,  more  or  less  active,  more  or  less 
nourished,  more  or  less  illumined,  constitute  difficulties 
which  must  be  solved,  and  which  cry  aloud  against  God. 
Why,  in  moments  of  extreme  joy,  do  we  long  to  leave 
this  earth?  Why  that  desire  to  rise,  which  seizes  and 
will  forever  seize  upon  created  man  ?  Motion  is  a  great 
soul,  whose  alliance  with  Matter  is  fully  as  difficult  to 
explain  as  the  production  of  Thought  in  man.  Science 
is  a  unit ;  it  is  impossible  to  touch  politics  without 
touching  morals,  and  morals  are  correlated  with  all 
scientific  questions.  It  seems  to  me  we  are  on  the  eve 
of  a  great  human  battle ;  the  forces  are  gathering,  but 
—  I  see  no  general. 

November  25ih. 
Believe  me,  dear  uncle,  it  is  difficult  to  renounce 
without  suffering  the  life  that  is  suited  to  us.    I  re- 
turn to  Blois  with  terrible  sinkings  of  the  heart.  There 
I  shall  die,  —  carrying  away  with  me  useful  truths. 


Louis  Lambert. 


97 


No  personal  interest  degrades  my  regret.  What  is 
^  fame  to  one  who  believes  he  is  going  to  a  higher 
sphere  ?  I  have  no  love  for  those  two  syllables  of  my 
name,  Lam-bert ;  spoken  with  respect  or  with  indiffer- 
ence above  my  grave,  they  cannot  change  my  destiny. 
I  am  conscious  of  strength,  of  energy ;  I  could  become 
a  power.  I  feel  within  me  a  life  so  luminous  that  it 
might  quicken  worlds  ;  I  am  held,  as  it  were,  in  a  min- 
eral, like  those  colors  you  admire  so  much  on  the  breast 
of  tropic  birds.  Ah  !  we  must  needs  embrace  the  whole 
world  and  clasp  it  to  our  bosoms  before  we  can  remake 
it ;  but  those  who  have  thus  clasped  and  thus  refashioned 
it,  did  they  npt  begin  as  a  wheel  of  the  machine  ?  As  for 
me,  those  wheels  would  crush  me.  No,  to  Mohammed 
the  sabre,  to  Christ  the  cross,  to  me  death  in  obscurity ; 
to-morrow  at  Blois,  erelong  in  my  coffin. 

Know  you  why?  I  have  returned  to  Swedenborg 
after  vast  studies  of  all  religions ;  after  convincing 
myself,  by  reading  all  books  which  patient  Germany, 
England,  and  France  have  published  during  the  last 
sixty  years,  of  the  profound  truth  of  my  youthful  per- 
ceptions of  the  Bible.  Beyond  a  doubt,  Swedenborg 
gathers,  to  him  all  religions,  or  rather  the  one  religion 
of  Humanity.  Though  worship  has  taken  an  infinitude 
of  forms,  neither  its  meaning  nor  its  metaphysical  con- 
struction have  ever  varied.  Man  has  never  had  but 
one  religion.  Sivaism,  Vishnuism,  and  Brahmanism, 
the  first  three  religions,  born  in  Thibet,  in  the  valley  of 
the  Indus,  and  along  the  vast  plains  of  the  Ganges, 
ended  their  warfare  Several  thousand  years  before 

7 


98 


Louis  Lambert. 


Christ  hy  adopting  the  Hindu  Trimoarti.  The  Tri- 
mourti  is  our  Trinity.  From  this  dogma  sprang,  in 
Persia,  Magianism ;  in  Egypt,  the  African  religions 
and  Mosaism ;  after  them  the  Greco-Roman  Polythe- 
ism. While  these  rays  of  the  Trimourti  adapted  the 
myths  of  Asia  to  the  imagination  of  every  land  to  which 
they  reached,  guided  by  sages  whom  men  transmuted 
into  demi-gods,  —  Mithra,  Dionysus,  Hermes,  Heracles, 
—  Buddha,  the  celebrated  reformer  of  the  three  primi- 
tive religions,  arose  in  India  and  founded  his  Faith 
(numbering  at  the  present  day  two  hundred  million 
more  worshippers  than  Christianity),  a  fount  in  which 
the  all-powerful  wills  of  Christ  and  of  Confucius  came 
to  steep  themselves.  There  Christianity  raised  its  ban- 
ner. Later,  Mohammed  blended  Mosaism,  Christianity, 
the  Bible,  and  the  Gospel  into  one  book,  the  Koran, 
adapting  them  to  the  genius  of  the  Arabs.  Finally, 
Swedenborg  gathered  from  Magianism,  Brahmanism, 
Buddhism,  and  Christian  Mysticism  that  which  those 
four  great  religions  have  in  common,  —  namely,  the 
real,  the  divine  within  them,  —  and  gave  to  this 
united  doctrine  a  synthesis  which  may  well  be  called 
mathematical. 

He  who  casts  himself  upon  those  streams  of  faith 
(the  founders  of  which  are  not  all  known)  will  find 
that  Zoroaster,  Moses,  Buddha,  Confucius,  Christ,  and 
Swedenborg  held  the  first  divine  principles  and  looked 
to  the  same  end.  But  the  last  of  them,  Swedenborg, 
may  prove  the  Buddha  of  the  North.  Though  his 
books  are  diffuse  and  obscure,  they  hold  the  elements 


Louis  Lambert. 


99 


of  a  vast  social  conception.  His  theocracy  is  sublime  ; 
and  his  religion  is  the  only  one  a  superior  mind  can 
accept.  He  alone  enables  man  to  touch  God ;  he 
creates  a  thirst  for  Him ;  he  rescues  the  majesty  of 
God  from  the  swaddling-clothes  in  which  other  human 
faiths  hare  muffled  it ;  he  has  left  Him  where  He  is, 
making  his  innumerable  creatures  and  creations  gravi- 
tate around  Him  by  successive  transformations  which 
lead  to  a  nearer  and  more  natural  future  than  the  Cath- 
olic Eternity.  He  has  cleansed  God  of  the  reproach 
which  tender  souls  have  cast  upon  Him  for  the  lasting 
vengeance  with  which  He  visits  a  passing  sin,  —  a  theory 
of  a  God  without  justice  and  without  mercy. 

Each  man  may  learn  for  himself  whether  it  is  re- 
served for  him  to  enter  another  life,  and  whether  this 
world  has  any  meaning.  I  am  about  to  test  this  ex- 
perience. My  attempt  may  help  to  save  the  world,  like 
the  cross  of  Jerusalem  and  the  sabre  of  Mecca,  — both 
were  the  product  of  solitude  and  the  desert.  Of  the 
thirty-three  years  of  Jesus'  life  only  nine  are  known  ; 
his  silent  years  prepared  his  glorious  struggle.  I,  too, 
I  need  the  desert. 

Notwithstanding  the  difficulties  of  the  undertaking, 
I  have  felt  it  my  duty  to  endeavor  to  portray  Louis 
Lambert's  youth,  —  that  hidden  life  to  which  I  owe  the 
only  happy  hours,  the  only  pleasant  memories,  of  my 
childhood.  Except  during  those  two  college  years,  my 
life  was  full  of  trouble  and  annoyance  ;  if  happiness 
came  later,  it  was  ever  incomplete.    I  have  been,  no 


100 


Louis  Lambert. 


doubt,  very  diffuse  ;  but  unless  we  penetrate  the  depth 
and  the  extent  of  Lambert's  heart  and  brain,  —  two 
words  which  imperfectly  represent  the  infinite  outlooks 
of  his  inward  being,  — it  wrould  be  almost  impossible  to 
understand  the  second  part  of  his  intellectual  history, 
unknown  in  its  course  both  to  the  world  and  to  me,  but 
the  occult  ending  of  which  was  made  manifest  to  me 
during  a  period  of  several  hours.  Those  who  have  not 
already  thrown  aside  this  book  will  comprehend,  I  hope, 
the  events  I  have  still  to  relate,  which  form,  as  it  were, 
the  second  existence  of  this  creature  destined  to  be 
exceptional  in  all  things,  even  in  his  end. 

When  Louis  returned  to  Blois  his  uncle  endeavored 
to  procure  him  some  amusement.  But  the  poor  curate 
was  treated  in  that  pious  town  like  a  pariah,  a  leper. 
No  one  in  good  society  would  receive  a  revolutionist,  a 
sworn-in  priest.  His  social  circle  was  therefore  limited 
to  a  few  persons  whose  opinions  were  then  called  liberal, 
patriotic,  or  constitutional ;  among  whom  he  spent  his 
evenings  playing  whist  or  boston.  In  the  first  house  to 
which  he  took  his  nephew,  Louis  met  a  young  lady  whose 
peculiar  position  relegated  her  to  this  society  thus  con- 
demned b}^  the  great  world,  although  her  fortune  was 
large  enough  to  have  enabled  her  to  marry  into  the 
ranks  of  the  aristocracy.  Mademoiselle  Pauline  de 
Villenoix  was  the  sole  heiress  of  the  wealth  amassed  by 
her  grandfather,  a  Jew  named  Salomon,  who,  contrary 
to  the  customs  of  his  nation,  had  married  in  his  old  age 
a  woman  of  the  Catholic  faith.  He  had  a  son  who  was 
brought  up  in  the  religion  of  the  mother.    At  the  death 


Louis  Lambert. 


101 


of  his  father  young  Salomon  bought,  to  use  a  saying  of 
that  clay,  a  savonnette  a  vilain,  —  in  other  words,  lands 
-  for  a  title,  —  and  made  the  estate  of  Villenoix  into  a 
I  barony,  taking  the  name  for  his  familj\  He  died  un- 
married, leaving  a  natural  daughter  to  whom  he  be- 
queathed the  greater  part  of  his  fortune  and  more 
especially  the  estate  of  Villenoix.  One  of  his  uncles, 
Monsieur  Joseph  Salomon,  was  appointed  by  Monsieur 
de  Villenoix  guardian  of  the  orphan  child.  This  old 
Jew  had  so  strong  an  affection  for  his  ward  that  he 
seemed  read}'  to  make  any  sacrifices  to  many  her  well. 
But  Mademoiselle  de  Viilenoix's  origin  and  the  preju- 
dice against  Jews  still  existing  in  the  provinces, 
prevented  her,  in  spite  of  her  wealth  and  that  of  her 
guardian,  from  being  admitted  to  that  exclusive  social 
circle  which  calls  itself,  with  or  without  reason,  the 
nobility.  However,  Monsieur  Joseph  Salomon  made 
known  that  instead  of  taking  some  country  squire  his 
ward  should  go  to  Paris,  and  select  a  husband  among 
the  liberal  or  monarchical  peers  ;  as  to  her  personal 
happiness,  the  worthy  guardian  was  persuaded  he  could 
secure  that  by  the  terms  of  the  marriage  contract. 

Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  was  just  twenty  years  old. 
Her  remarkable  beauty  and  the  graces  of  her  mind 
were  less  doubtful  security  for  her  happiness  than  that 
bestowed  on  her  by  wealth.  Her  features  bore  the 
impress  of  Jewish  beauty  in  its  utmost  purity,  —  the 
oval  lines,  so  broad  and  so  virginal,  unspeakably  ideal 
and  suggestive  of  the  delights  of  the  Orient,  the  unalter- 
able azure  of  its  skies,  the  splendors  of  its  earth,  the 


102 


Louis  Lambert, 


fabulous  riches  of  its  existence.  She  had  fine  eyes, 
veiled  by  long  lids  fringed  with  thick  and  curving  lashes. 
A  Scriptural  innocence  shone  from  her  brow.  Her  skin 
had  the  smooth  and  even  whiteness  of  a  Levite's  robes. 
She  was  habitually  silent  and  collected  ;  but  her  ges- 
tures, her  motions  betrayed  an  inward  grace,  just  as 
her  words  gave  evidence  of  the  gentle  and  caressing 
nature  of  the  woman.  Still,  she  had  not  the  dewy 
freshness,  the  rosy  tints  which  adorn  the  cheek  of  girl- 
hood in  its  careless  prime.  Brown  shadows,  mingled 
with  a  few  russet  threads,  took  the  place  of  color  in  her 
face  and  betrayed  an  energy  of  character  and  a  nervous 
excitability  which  many  men  dislike  to  find  in  a  woman, 
but  which  to  certain  others  is  an  indication  of  lofty  pas- 
sions and  the  chastity  of  a  sensitive  soul. 

No  sooner  had  Lambert  caught  sight  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Villenoix  than  he  divined  the  angel  within  her  form. 
The  rich  faculties  of  his  mind,  his  leaning  towards  ec- 
stasy, in  short,  all  within  him  merged  into  boundless 
love,  the  first  love  of  a  young  man,  a  passion  (in  others 
of  his  age  already  so  vigorous)  which  the  vernal  ardor 
of  his  senses,  the  nature  of  his  ideas  and  his  modes  of 
life  now  lifted  into  incalculable  power.  This  passion 
was  a  fathomless  depth  into  which  the  hapless  man 
flung  all ;  a  depth  to  which  our  thoughts  dare  not  fol- 
low him,  since  his  thought,  strong  and  flexible  as  it  was, 
perished  there.  All  is  mystery  ;  for  all  occurred  within 
the  boundaries  of  that  moral  wTorld  shut  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  most  men,  whose  laws  may  have  been  revealed 
to  Lambert  for  his  destruction. 


Louis  Lambert. 


103 


When  accident  brought  me,  as  I  have  said,  into  rela- 
tions with  his  uncle,  that  worthy  man  took  me  into  the 
room  which  Louis  occupied  at  the  period  of  which  I  now 
write.    I  looked  for  traces  of  his  work,  if  any  such  had 
been  left  there.    Among  the  papers,  the  careless  disor- 
der of  which  his  uncle  had  respected  with  that  exquisite 
sensibility  to  suffering  characteristic  of  old  people,  I 
found  many  letters  to  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix,  evi- 
dently too  illegible  to  have  been  sent  to  her.  My 
intimate  acquaintance  with  Lambert's  writing  enabled 
me,  in  time,  to  decipher  the  hieroglyphics  of  a  stenog- 
raphy invented  by  the  impatience  and  the  frenzy  of  his 
passion.    Carried  away  by  his  feelings,  he  wrote  with- 
out perceiving  the  imperfection  of  a  writing  too  slow 
to  express  his  thought.    He  had  evidently  been  obliged 
to  recopy  his  first  attempts,  the  lines  of  which  in 
many  instances  mingled  confusedly;  perhaps,  also,  he 
may  have  feared  that  his  feelings  were  scarcely  enough 
disguised,  and  therefore,  at  the  outset  of  his  love,  he 
wrote  each  letter  over  again.    However  this  may  be, 
it  needed  all  the  ardor  of  my  worship  for  his  memory, 
and  the  sort  of  fanaticism  derived  from  an  effort  of 
this  kind,  to  divine  and  restore  the  meaning  of  the 
five  following  letters.   These  papers,  which  I  religiously 
preserve,  are  the  sole  material  evidence  of  his  ardent 
passion.     Mademoiselle   de  Villenoix   has  doubtless 
destroyed  the  letters  themselves  (those  that  were  sent 
to  her),  eloquent  records  of  the  delirium  which  she 
caused. 

The  first  of  these  letters,  evidently  what  is  termed 


104 


Louis  Lambert. 


a  rough  copy,  shows  in  its  style  and  amplifications  the 
doubts,  the  troubles  of  mind,  the  innumerable  fears 
awakened  by  the  desire  to  please,  the  changes  of  ex- 
pression, and  the  fluctuations  of  thought,  which  assail 
a  young  man  when  he  writes  of  his  love  for  the  first 
time,  —  a  letter  never  forgotten,  each  phrase  of  which 
is  the  fruit  of  a  reveiy,  while  eveiy  word  excites  con- 
templation ;  a  letter  in  which  the  most  ungovernable- of 
all  feelings  comprehends  the  necessity  of  reserved  ex- 
pression, and  like  a  giant  who  stoops  to  enter  a  cottage 
door,  makes  itself  small  and  humble  that  it  may  not 
shock  or  frighten  the  soul  of  a  young  girl.  Never  an- 
tiquary  handled  his  palimpsests  with  more  reverence 
than  I  felt  when  studying  and  reconstructing  these  mu- 
tilated monuments  of  a  suffering  and  a  joy  so  sacred  to 
those  who  have  known  the  same  suffering  and  the  same 
joy. 

I. 

Mademoiselle,  when  you  shall  have  read  this  letter, 
if  indeed  }'ou  deign  to  read  it,  my  life  will  be  in  your 
hands,  for  I  love  you  ;  and  for  me  the  hope  of  being 
loved  is  life  itself.  I  know  not  if  other  men,  speaking 
to  you  of  themselves,  have  misused  the  words  I  here 
employ  to  picture  to  you  the  state  of  my  soul ;  believe, 
nevertheless,  in  the  truth  of  m}T  expressions,  — they  are 
feeble,  but  sincere. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  mistake  thus  to  avow  my  love.  Yes, 
my  heart  counsels  me  to  wait  in  silence  till  my  passion 
ma}'  have  touched  you  ;  so  that  I  may  crush  it  if  its 
mute  evidence  displease  you,  or  express  it  more  chastely 


Louis  Lambert. 


105 


than  by  words  if  I  find  favor  in  your  eyes.  I  have  lis- 
tened long  to  the  scruples  which  daunt  a  young  man's 
heart,  and  now,  in  writing  to  you,  I  obey  the  instinct 
that  wrings  useless  cries  from  the  dying.  I  summon 
all  my  courage  to  silence  the  pride  of  poverty  and  leap 
the  barriers  which  prejudice  has  placed  between  you 
and  me.  Many  are  the  thoughts  I  must  needs  repress 
to  love  you  in  spite  of  your  wealth.  In  this  mere  act 
of  writing  to  you,  I  must  risk  the  contempt  that  women 
often  feel  for  a  love  whose  confession  is  to  them  but 
one  flattery  the  more.  Yes,  it  is  best  to  spring  with  all 
our  strength  toward  happiness  ;  to  be  drawn  to  the  life 
of  love  as  a  plant  to  the  light ;  best  to  have  known  uh- 
happiness  to  know  also  how  to  conquer  the  torture  of 
these  inward  deliberations,  in  which  reason  proves  to  us 
in  a  thousand  ways  the  inefficacy  of  wishes  hidden  in 
the  depths  of  the  heart,  while  hope  persuades  us  to 
dare  all. 

I  was  happy  when  admiring  you  in  silence  ;  so  com- 
pletely was  I  sunken  in  contemplation  of  your  glorious 
soul  that  I  imagined  no  other  happiness  than  to  look 
at  you.  I  should  not  dare  to  speak  to  you  even  now 
were  it  not  for  the  news  of  your  possible  departure.  To 
what  agon}T  a  single  word  has  condemned  me  !  But 
my  grief  has  taught  me  to  measure  the  extent  of  my 
attachment,  —  it  is  boundless.  Mademoiselle,  you  will 
never  know,  at  least  I  pray  that  you  may  never  know, 
the  suffering  caused  by  the  fear  of  losing  the  only  hap- 
piness that  has  ever  dawned  for  me  on  earth ;  the 
sole  joy  that  has  cast  a  gleam  into  the  darkness  of  my 


106 


Louis  Lambert. 


misery.  Yesterday  I  felt  that  my  life  was  no  longer 
in  me,  but  in  3*011.  For  me  there  is  henceforth  but  one 
woman  in  the  world,  just  as  there  is  but  one  thought  in 
my  soul.  I  dare  not  tell  you  to  what  alternative  my 
love  for  you  reduces  me.  Unwilling  to  win  you  except 
through  the  impulsion  of  your  own  wishes,  I  must  avoid 
appealing  to  you  by  signs  of  grief,  —  more  moving  far 
to  noble  hearts  than  those  of  fortune.  I  am  forced, 
therefore,  to  withhold  from  you  many  things.  Yes,  I 
have  too  lofty  an  idea  of  love  to  degrade  it  by  thoughts 
which  are  foreign  to  its  nature.  If  my  soul  is  worthy 
of  yours,  if  my  life  is  pure,  your  heart  will  have  gener- 
ous intuitions  of  it,  —  you  will  comprehend  me.  It  is 
in  the  destiny  of  man  to  offer  himself  to  her  who  makes 
his  dream  of  happiness  ;  but  it  is  also  3*our  woman's 
right  to  refuse  the  truest  of  all  feelings  if  they  do  not 
harmonize  with  the  confused  voices  of  3rour  heart ;  this 
I  know. 

If  the  fate  to  which  3*011  consign  me,  Mademoiselle,  is 
contraiy  to  my  hopes,  I  invoke  the  delicac3*  °f  jom  virgin 
soul,  the  ingenuous  pityT  of  3*our  womanhood,  and  I  en- 
treat 3*ou,  burn  my  letter,  forget  all.  Do  not  lightly 
smile  at  a  feeling  profoundly  respectful  and  too  deeply 
graven  in  my  soul  ever  to  be  effaced.  Break  m3*  heart, 
but  do  not  rend  it !  Should  the  utterance  of  m3r  only 
love,  a  3'oung,  pure  love,  find  no  echo  in  a  pure  3'oung 
heart,  should  it  die  there  as  a  pra3*er  is  lost  in  the  bosom 
of  the  Divine,  still,  I  owe  3*011  gratitude  ;  I  have  spent 
delightful  hours  watching  you  as  I  yielded  to  the  sweet- 
est reveries  of  all  my  life ;  do  not  end  this  long  yet 


Louis  Lambert.  *  107 


fleeting  gladness  with  the  laughing  jest  of  a  young  girl. 
Do  not  answer  me  at  all.  I  shall  understand  your 
silence,  and  you  will  see  me  no  more.  If  it  be  my 
fate  to  comprehend  felicity  and  ever  lose  it ;  if,  like  the 
.banished  angel,  I  bear  within  me  knowledge  of  celestial 
joys  and  yet  am  linked  inclissolubly  to  a  world  of  pain, 
I  will  keep  the  secret  of  my  love  as  of  my  misery. 

Adieu !  Yes,  I  confide  you  to  God  ;  I  implore  him 
on  your  behalf ;  I  ask  him  to  give  you  a  happy  life,  if 
so  be  that  I  am  driven  from  your  heart,  where  I  have 
entered  furtively  without  your  knowledge, — but  even 
then,  I  shall  never  leave  you.  If  it  were  otherwise, 
what  value  would  there  be,  what  truth,  in  the  words, 
the  sacred  words  of  this  letter,  my  first  and  perhaps 
my  last  prayer?  If  I  ceased  hereafter  to  think  of  you, 
to  love  you,  whether  I  were  happy  or  unhappy,  should  I 
not  deserve  my  anguish? 

II. 

You  stay  !  you  do  not  leave  me  !  Then  I  am  loved  ! 
I,  poor  and  obscure  !  My  dear  Pauline,  you  do  not 
know  the  power  of  that  glance  in  which  I  trust,  and 
which  you  gave  me  to  reveal  that  I  am  chosen  by 
you,  by  you !  young  and  beautiful,  with  the  world  at 
3'our  feet. 

To  make  you  understand  my  happiness  I  must  needs 
relate  to  you  my  life.  If  you  had  rejected  my  prayer 
all  was  over  with  me.  I  had  suffered  too  much.  Yes, 
my  love,  this  beneficent,  this  glorious  love,  was  the 
last  effort  toward  happiness  of  a  soul  that  is  bruised 


108 


Louis  Lambert. 


and  broken  by  useless  labors,  wasted  by  fears  which 
make  me  doubt  myself,  gnawed  by  despair  which  tells 
me  often  to  find  rest  in  death.  No  one  living  can 
know  the  terror  my  fatal  imagination  causes  me.  It 
lifts  me  often  to  the  skies,  then  suddenly  replunges  me 
to  earth  from  awful  heights.  Inward  impulses  of  vigor, 
certain  rare  and  secret  proofs  of  mental  clearness,  as- 
sure me  at  times  that  I  am  capable  of  much.  At  such 
times  I  grasp  the  universe  of  thought,  I  knead  it,  I 
mould  it,  I  pierce  it,  I  comprehend,  or  think  I  compre- 
hend, it.  Then  suddenly  I  wake,  I  am  in  darkness, 
puny  and  pitiable;  I  forget  the  gleams  that  I  have 
seen  ;  no  succor  comes  to  me  ;  above  all,  no  heart  in 
which  I  might  take  refuge. 

This  evil  of  my  moral  life  reacts  upon  my  physical 
existence.  The  nature  of  my  mind  leaves  me  as  de- 
fenceless before  the  joys  of  happiness  as  against  the 
dreadful  lights  of  reflection  which  destroy  those  joys  by 
analyzing  them.  Gifted  with  the  dismal  faculty  of 
seeing  both  obstacles  and  attainment  with  equal  clear- 
ness, I  am  happy  or  unhappy  according  to  the  convic- 
tion of  the  moment.  Thus  when  I  first  met  you  the 
perception  of  an  angel  filled  my  soul ;  I  breathed  an 
air  that  healed  my  fevered  breast ;  I  heard  within  me 
the  voice  that  never  deceives,  offering  me  a  happy 
life  ;  but,  perceiving  at  the  same  moment  the  barriers 
that  separate  us,  I  understood  the  prejudices  of  the 
world  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  them  in  all  their  pettiness, 
and  the  sense  of  these  obstacles  depressed  me  more 
than  the  glimpse  of  happiness  had  uplifted  me.  At 


Louis  Lambert. 


109 


once,  the  terrible  reaction  by  which  my  expanding 
soul  returns  upon  itself  set  in ;  the  smile  you  had 
brought  to  my  lips  changed  suddenly  to  bitter  con- 
traction ;  I  tried  to  remain  calm  while  my  blood, 
driven  hither  and  thither  by  conflicting  feelings,  boiled 
in  my  veins.  I  felt  once  more  that  cutting  sensation  to 
which  twenty-three  years  of  repressed  sighs  and  be- 
trayed aspiration  have  accustomed  me. 

Pauline  !  the  glance  with  which  you  told  me  of  my 
happiness  rekindled  m}T  life  and  changed  my  wretched- 
ness to  felicity.  I  now  wish  that  I  had  suffered  more. 
My  love  rose  to  greatness.  My  soul  was  a  vast  tract, 
barren  for  want  of  sun  ;  your  glance  has  cast  the  sun's 
rays  on  it.  Dear  Providence  !  you  will  be  all  to  me,  — 
to  me,  poor  orphan  with  no  kindred  but  an  uncle.  You 
wiil  be  my  familv,  as  you  now  are  my  wealth,  nay,  the 
whole  world  to  me  !  Did  you  not  bestow  upon  me  all 
the  treasures  of  a  man,  in  that  chaste,  that  prodigal, 
that  timid  glance?  You  have  given  me  courage,  yes, 
unspeakable  boldness.  I  dare  all  now.  I  returned  to 
Blois  cast  clown.  Five  }Tears  in  Paris  taught  me  to  re- 
gard the  world  as  a  prison.  There  I  conceived  whole 
sciences  and  dared  not  speak  of  them.  Fame  seemed 
to  me  an  imposture,  from  which  a  truly  noble  soul  should 
keep  itself  aloof.  My  ideas  could  gain  a  hearing  on\y 
from  the  lips  of  one  bold  enough  to  mount  the  platform 
of  the  Press  and  speak  with  a  loud  voice  to  fools  whom 
he  despised.  I  had  not  that  boldness.  I  went  my  way  ; 
crushed  by  the  judgments  of  the  crowd,  despairing  of 
being  heard,  —  I  was  too  low,  and  yet  too  high  !  I  swal- 


110 


Louis  Lambert. 


lowed  my  thoughts  as  others  swallow  their  humiliations. 
I  even  came  to  despise  science,  blaming  it  for  adding 
nothing  to  human  happiness. 

But,  since  yesterda}',  all  is  changed  within  me.  For 
your  sake  I  crave  the  laurels  of  fame  and  the  triumphs 
of  genius.  I  desire  as  I  lay  my  head  upon  your  knees 
to  draw  thither  the  eyes  of  men,  just  as  I  desire  to 
put  my  love  into  all  ideas,  into  all  my  powers.  Fame 
is  a  possession  which  no  potentate  but  genius  can  cre- 
ate. Well !  I  can,  if  I  will,  make  you  a  couch  of  laurels. 
But  should  the  peaceful  ovations  of  science  not  suffice 
you,  I  bear  within  me  the  Sword  and  the  Word  ;  I  can 
speed  my  way  along  the  path  of  honors  and  ambitions 
where  others  slowly  drag  themselves.  Speak,  Pauline  ; 
I  will  be  all  you  wish  me  to  be.  My  iron  will  is  capable 
of  all.  I  am  loved  !  Armed  with  that  thought  a  man 
can  make  all  things  bend  before  him.  All  is  possible  to 
him  who  wills  all.  Be  the  guerdon  of  success,  and  to- 
morrow I  enter  the  lists.  To  obtain  another  look  like 
that  you  gave  me  I  would  plunge  into  unfathomable 
gulfs.  You  explain  to  me  the  emprises  of  Chivalry, 
the  fabulous  tales  of  the  Arabian  Nights ;  I  now  believe 
in  all  fanciful  exaggerations  of  love,  and  the  success  of 
prisoners  in  their  bold  attempts  to  conquer  liberty.  You 
have  wakened  a  thousand  virtues  slumbering  within  my 
being, —  patience,  resignation,  all  the  powers  of  the  heart, 
all  the  forces  of  the  soul.  I  live  through  you,  and,  oh 
blissful  thought !  for  you.  Now  all  things  have  a  mean- 
ing to  me  in  life  ;  I  understand  all  —  even  the  vanity 
of  riches.    I  behold  myself  pouring  the  pearls  of  India 


Louis  Lambert. 


Ill 


at  your  feet ;  I  fancy  I  see  you  lying  amid  the  brightest 
flowers,  on  the  softest  tissues,  and  the  splendors  of 
earth  seem  to  me  scarce  worthy  of  you  —  of  you,  for 
whom  I  would  fain  draw  down  all  harmonies,  all  light, 
which  the  harps  of  Seraphim  and  the  stars  of  heaven 
lavish !  — 

Poor  student  poet!  my  words  offer  you  treasures 
which  I  have  not.  I  have  nought  to  give  you  but  my 
heart,  where  you  will  reign  eternally.  In  that  is  my 
wealth.  But  are  there  no  treasures  in  gratitude?  in 
smiles  whose  expression  is  ever  varied  by  happiness 
immutable?  in  the  ceaseless  study  of  my  love  to  divine 
the  wishes  of  your  loving  soul?  A  celestial  glance  has 
told  us  that  we  shall  forever  understand  each  other.  I 
have  now  a  prayer  to  offer  each  night  to  God,  a  prayer 
that  is  all  for  you  :  "  Make  my  Pauline  happy  !  "  Ah  ! 
will  you  not  one  day  fill  my  life  as  now  you  fill  my 
heart ! 

Adieu  —  I  can  commit  you  to  none  but  God. 
III. 

Pauline  !  tell  me  if  it  is  possible  that  I  displeased  you 
yesterday?  Lay  aside  the  pride  of  heart  which  leads 
us  to  bear  secretly  the  suffering  caused  by  one  we  love. 
Blame  me.  A  vague  fear  that  I  offended  you  sheds 
gloom  upon  that  life  of  the  heart  which  you  have  made 
so  sweet  and  affluent.  Often  the  lightest  veil  that  falls 
between  two  spirits  becomes  a  wall  of  adamant.  There 
are  no  slight  crimes  in  love  !  If  the  genius  of  that  glo- 
rious sentiment  is  in  you,  you  must  feel  all  its  sufferings, 


112 


Louis  Lambert. 


and  I  ought  to  watch  unceasingly  lest  I  wound  you  by 
some  heedless  word.  Dear  treasure !  no  doubt  the 
fault  was  mine  —  if  fault  there  were.  I  make  no  boast 
of  understanding  woman's  heart  in  all  the  plenitude  of 
her  tenderness  and  the  graces  of  her  devotion,  but  I  will 
ever  try  to  value  justly  whatever  you  are  pleased  to  re- 
veal to  me  of  yours.  Speak,  tell  me;  answer  quickly. 
The  sadness  produced  by  the  sense  of  a  wrong  done  is 
terrible  ;  it  wraps  about  us  and  makes  us  doubt  of  every- 
thing. To-day  I  sat  an  hour  on  the  lower  road  watch- 
ing the  towers  of  Villenoix,  not  daring  to  go  to  our 
trysting-place. 

Ah,  if  you  only  knew  what  I  then  saw  within  my 
soul !  — what  gloom}-  phantoms  passed  before  me,  as  I 
sat  beneath  that  leaden  sk}-  whose  chilling  aspect  made 
me  gloomier  still !  Dark  presentiments  assailed  me. 
I  feared  I  could  not  make  yo\\  happy  —  My  Pauline, 
I  must  tell  you  all.  Moments  come  when  the  spirit  that 
quickens  me  withdraws  itself.  I  am,  as  it  were,  aban- 
doned by  my  forces.  All  things  become  a  burden  ;  each 
fibre  of  my  body  is  inert,  each  sense  relaxes,  my  vision 
dulls,  m}r  tongue  stiffens,  imagination  fades,  desires  die, 
and  nought  remains  but  creative  force.  At  such  times 
hereafter  you  will  be  present  in  all  the  glory  of  yom 
beauty  ;  your  winning  smiles,  your  tenderest  wrords  will 
be  lavished  upon  nie  !  What  if  some  evil  power  arise  to 
blind  me,  and  turn  to  jangling  discords  this  most  rav- 
ishing of  melodies  ?  At  such  moments  there  rises  before 
me  (at  least  I  think  so)  a  reasoning  spirit,  who  bids  me 
see  the  nothingness  that  lies  below  our  surest  treasures. 


Louis  Lambert. 


113 


Pitiless  demon !  who  mows  the  flowers,  sneers  at  the 
sweetest  feelings,  and  asks  me,  "  Well,  what  follows?  " 
He  blights  the  beauteous  work  by  showing  me  its  prin- 
ciple ;  he  reveals  the  mechanism  and  blinds  me  to  its 
harmonious  results.  In  those  awful  moments,  when  the 
evil  angel  grasps  my  being,  when  the  light  divine  is 
darkened  in  my  soul  (though  I  know  not  why  or  where- 
fore), I  am  sad,  I  suffer,  I  long  to  be  deaf  and  dumb,  I 
wish  for  death  in  hopes  of  rest. 

Perhaps  these  hours  of  doubt  and  anxiety  are  neces- 
sary ;  at  least,  they  teach  me  to  take  no  pride  in  the 
stimulus  that  bears  me  to  the  heavens,  where  with  eager 
hands  I  garner  in  the  harvest  of  ideas  ;  for  it  is  always 
after  I  have  wandered  long  through  the  vast  regions  of 
the  mind,  after  luminous  meditation,  that  1  fall,  weary 
and  spent,  into  this  purgatory.  At  such  moments,  dear 
angel,  a  woman  would  doubt  my  love,  —  at  least,  she 
well  might  do  so.  Sometimes  capricious,  often  ailing 
or  sad  herself,  she  would  need  the  caressing  treasures 
of  a  man's  tenderness,  and  I  should  have  none  to  give 
her.  Pauline,  it  shames  me  to  tell  you  that  I  might 
weep  with  you  at  such  times,  but  support  you  with  a 
smile,  —  never  !  Yet  a  woman  would  find  strength  in 
love  to  hide  her  pains.  For  her  child,  as  for  him  she 
loves,  she  smiles  and  suffers.  Can  it  be,  my  Pauline, 
that  even  for  your  sake  I  am  unable  to  imitate  a  woman 
in  her  supremest  delicacj'  ? 

I  doubt  myself  since  yesterday.  I  have  hurt  }'Ou  ;  I 
have  failed  to  comprehend  you.  I  tremble  lest  I  be 
dragged  ag;ain  and  yet  again,  by  my  fatal  demon,  be- 


114 


Louis  Lambert. 


yond  the  boundaries  of  our  good  sphere.  Were  I  to 
have  many  such  fearful  moments,  were  my  boundless 
love  unable  to  redeem  the  evil  hours  of  my  life,  were  I 
destined  to  continue  such  as  I  am  now  —  ah,  torturing 
thoughts !  power  is  a  fatal  gift,  if  that  which  I  feel 
within  me  is  power  indeed.  Pauline,  leave  me,  go  from 
me,  abandon  me !  I  would  rather  suffer  all  the  woes 
of  life  than  bear  the  agony  of  knowing  that  you  suffer 
through  me. 

But  perhaps  the  demon  gains  empire  over  my  soul 
because,  as  yet,  no  white  and  gentle  hands  have  been 
beside  me  to  repulse  him.  Never  has  woman  shed 
her  balm  of  consolation  upon  my  wounds,  and  I  know 
not  whether  in  such  moments  of  lassitude  love  may  not 
spread  her  wings  above  my  head,  and  pour  into  my 
heart  some  superhuman  force.  Perhaps  this  cruel  mel- 
ancholy is  the  fruit  of  my  solitude,  the  sufferings  of  an 
abandoned  soul  which  moans  and  pays  for  joy  with 
untold  sufferings.  To  easy  pleasures,  easy  pains  ;  to 
infinite  joys,  unheard-of  anguish.  What  a  sentence  on 
mankind !  If  it  be  so,  ought  we  not  to  tremble,  my 
Pauline,  we  who  are  now  superhu manly  happy?  If 
Nature  sells  all  things  according  to  their  value,  into 
what  depths  are  we  about  to  fall?  Ah,  the  happy-fated 
lovers  are  those  who  die  together  in  their  love  and 
youth.  What  gloomy  thoughts  !  Does  my  soul  foresee 
an  evil  future  ?  I  examine  myself,  I  ask  myself  if  there 
be  anything  in  me  that  must  bring  you  grief.  Perhaps 
I  love  you  selfishly.  Perhaps  I  lay  on  that  dear  head 
a  burden  greater  than  the  sweetness  my  love  can  shed 


Louis  Lambert. 


115 


within  your  heart.  If  there  be  in  me  some  inexorable 
power  which  I  must  needs  obey,  if  I  must  curse  while 
you  must  pray,  if  some  sad  thought  controls  me  when 
I  fain  would  lie  at  your  feet,  and  play  with  you  as  with 
an  infant,  will  you  never  be  jealous  of  this  capricious 
and  exacting  spirit? 

Do  you  comprehend,  heart  of  mine,  that  I  fear  lest  I 
be  not  wholly  yours?  Know,  Pauline,  that  I  would 
gladly  abdicate  all  sceptres,  all  earthly  crowns,  to  make 
you  my  eternal  thought ;  to  find  in  our  delightful  love 
a  noble  life,  a  glorious  poem  where  I  might  fling  my 
soul,  engulf  my  powers,  and  ask  of  every  hour  the  joys 
it  owes  us.  Ah !  the  memories  of  love  return  to  me  ; 
the  clouds  of  sadness  are  rolling  from  my  brain.  Adieu, 
I  leave  you  to  be  nearer  to  you.  My  cherished  soul, 
give  me  a  word,  —  T  await  a  word,  a  single  word,  to  shed 
peace  into,  my  heart.  Let  me  know  if  I  have  grieved 
you ;  or  whether  some  chance  expression  of  your  face 
misled  me.  May  I  never,  at  the  close  of  our  happy  life, 
reproach  myself  for  greeting  you  without  a  smile  of  love, 
without  the  honey  of  a  tender  wTord.  To  grieve  the 
woman  we  love!  that,  my  Pauline,  is  a  crime  in  my 
eyes.  Tell  me  the  truth ;  send  me  no  generous  false- 
hood, but  disarm  your  pardon  of  all  cruelty. 

Fragment. 

Is  so  complete  an  attachment  happiness?  Yes,  be- 
cause years  of  suffering  cannot  outweigh  one  hour  of 
love.  Yesterday  your  apparent  sadness  passed  athwart 
my  life  with  the  rapidity  of  a  falling  shadow.  Were 


116 


Louis  Lambert. 


you  sad?  Did  you  suffer?  I  suffered.  Whence  came 
that  pain?  tell  me  quickly.  Why  did  I  not  divine  it? 
We  are  not  yet  absolutely  one  in  thought ;  if  we  were, 
I  should  be  conscious  of  your  pains  and  griefs  at  five 
miles  or  a  thousand  from  you.  I  shall  not  think  I  love 
you  until  my  life  becomes  so  intimately  bound  to  yours 
that  between  us  there  will  be  but  one  life,  one  heart, 
one  mind.  I  must  be  where  you  are,  see  what  you  see, 
feel  what  you  feel,  and  follow  you  in  thought.  Did  I 
not  know,  instantly,  when  your  carriage  was  overturned 
and  you  were  hurt?  That  day  I  never  left  you  ;  I  saw 
you.  When  my  uncle  asked  me  why  I  turned  pale  I 
answered,  4 1  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  has  just  been 
hurt."  Why,  then,  did  I  not  read  your  soul  yesterday? 
Were  you  trying  to  hide  the  cause  of  your  grief  ?  I 
fancied  you  had  made  some  ineffectual  efforts  on  my 
behalf  with  your  uncle  Salomon,  who  chills  and  stiffens 
me.  That  man  does  not  belong  to  our  heaven.  Why 
do  you  wish  that  our  happiness,  which  resembles  no 
other  upon  earth,  should  conform  to  the  laws  of  earth? 
But  I  love  your  virgin  purity,  your  creed,  your  super- 
stitions too  well  not  to  obey  your  least  desire.  What 
you  wish  must  be  right;  nothing  is  so  pure  as  your 
thought,  just  as  nothing  is  so  beautiful  as  your  face, 
which  reflects  the  Divine  within  you. 

I  will  await  your  letter  before  I  take  my  way  to  the 
sweet  meeting  which  you  grant  me.  Did  you  but  know 
how  the  sight  of  those  towers  makes  me  palpitate  when 
I  see  them  touched  by  the  moon,  —  our  friend,  ,  our 
confidant ! 


Louis  Lambert. 


117 


IV. 

Farewell  Fame!  farewell,  my  future!  farewell,  O 
life  of  which  I  dreamed!  Now,  dear  loved  one,  it  is 
my  glory. to  be  thine,  worthy  of  thee.  My  future  is  the 
hope  of  seeing  thee ;  and  my  life,  what  is  it?  to  lie  at 
thy  feet,  to  win  thy  glance,  to  breathe  with  open  lungs 
the  air  of  heaven  which  thou  hast  brought  me.  All  my 
forces,  all  my  thoughts  must  needs  be  thine, — hast 
thou  not  said  to  nle  the  entrancing  words,  u  Thy  griefs 
are  mine !  " 

Do  I  not  rob  love  of  jo}',  happiness  of  precious  mo- 
ments, thy  saintly  soul  of  feelings,  when  I  give  hours 
to  study,  ideas  to  earth,  poetry  to  poets?  Dear  life 
of  mine,  I  desire  to  give  thee  all ;  to  lay  at  thy  feet 
each  flower  of  my  soul.  What  is  there  beautiful  enough, 
splendid  enough,  in  the  treasures  of  earth  or  mind,  to  do 
honor  to  a  heart  so  rich,  so  pure  ?  —  a  heart  with  which 
I  dare  ally  my  own  sometimes.  Yes,  sometimes  I 
proudly  feel  that  I  can  love  even  as  thou  lovest.  But 
no,  thou  art  an  angel- woman ;  there  will  ever  be 
greater  charm  in  the  utterance  of  thy  feelings,  more 
harmony  in  thy  voice,  more  grace  in  thy  smiles,  more 
purity  in  thy  glance  than  in  mine.  Yes,  let  me  think 
thee  a  creation  of  a  higher  sphere  than  that  I  live  in. 
Take  thou  the  pride  of  descending  from  it ;  I  shall  have 
that  of  meriting  thy  descent.  It  may  be  no  forfeiture 
of  thy  heaven  to  come  to  me,  a  poor,  unhappy  man. 
If  the  truest  home  of  a  woman  is  a  heart  all  hers,  thou 
shalt  ever  be  the  sovereign  of  mine.    No  thought,  no 


118 


Louis  Lambert. 


act  can  stain  that  heart,  rich  sanctnaiy,  so  long  as  thou 
deignest  to  inhabit  it,  —  but  that  will  be  forever,  will  it 
not?  Hast  thou  not  said  to  me,  "  Now  and  ever  !  "  "et 
nunc  et  semper?  "  I  have  carved  those  words  of  the 
ritual  beneath  thy  portrait,  words  worthy  of  thee  as  they 
are  of  God.    He  is  noio  and  ever,  like  my  love. 

No,  no,  never  can  I  exhaust  that  which  is  limitless, 
infinite.  So  powerful  is  the  sentiment  I  feel  for  thee 
that  I  am  able  to  divine  its  immeasurable  extent  as  we 
divine  space  by  measuring  a  fraction  of  it.  Thus  I 
have  found  ineffable  enjoyment,  hours  rilled  with  med- 
itations of  delight,  in  recalling  a  single  gesture,  a  tone, 
an  accent  of  thy  voice.  Hereafter,  memories  wrill  arise 
beneath  whose  weight  I  must  succumb,  since  even  now 
the  recollection  of  some  sweet  familiar  moment  makes 
me  weep  with  joy,  softens  and  penetrates  my  heart, 
and  is  to  me  a  quenchless  stream  of  happiness.  To 
love  is  the  life  of  angels  !  Methinks  I  never  can  ex- 
haust the  pleasure  I  obtain  in  seeing  thee.  That  pleas- 
ure, the  humblest  of  all,  for  which  Time  is  insufficient, 
has  taught  me  to  know  the  contemplations  of  the  Sera- 
phim and  of  the  souls  made  perfect  before  God.  Noth- 
ing is  more  comprehensible,  if  from  His  essence  emanates 
a  light  as  fruitful  of  new  emotions  as  that  from  thine 
eyes,  thy  stately  brow,  tfry  noble  face,  celestial  image 
of  tlry  soul,  —  the  soul,  that  other  self  of  ourselves, 
whose  pure,  undying  shape  renders  our  love  immortal. 

I  would  there  existed  a  language  other  than  that  I 
use  to  express  the  ever-springing  delights  of  my  love  ! 
If  there  be  one  that  we  ourselves  have  created,  if  our 


Louis  Lambert. 


119 


looks  are  living  words,  must  we  not  stay  in  each 
other's  sight  to  hear  by  the  eyes  those  questions  and 
answers  of  the  heart  that  are  so  ardent,  so  penetrating, 
that  once  my  Pauline  said  to  me,  "  Hush,  be  silent !  " 
when  I  was  saying  nothing,  —  dost  thou  remember, 
sweetest  life  ?  From  afar,  when  lost  in  the  dusk  of  ab- 
sence, I  am  forced  to  use  human  wrords  too  feeble  to 
render  these  divine  sensations  ;  and  yet  such  words 
mark  the  furrows  those  feelings  trace  upon  my  heart, 
just  as  the  word  God  imperfectly  sums  up  the  ideas  we 
form  of  that  mysterious  essence.  Again,  though  lan- 
guage may  have  a  science  and  an  infinity  of  its  own,  I 
have  never  yet  found  anything  within  it  which  could 
paint  to  thy  soul  the  blissful  clasp  by  which  my  life 
mingles  with  thine  when  I  think  of  thee.  And  still 
again,  what  word  shall  I  choose  to  end  these  words  when 
I  cease  to  write  and  yet  do  not  leave  thee?  What 
means  adieu  —  unless  we  die  ?  But  is  death  ever  an 
adieu?  Will  not  my  soul  be  united  then  to  thine,  far 
closer  than  before? 

Oh,  my  eternal  thought !  lately  I  offered  thee,  upon 
my  knees,  my  life,  my  heart ;  and  now,  what  flowers  of 
feeling  can  I  find  within  my  soul  that  I  have  not  already 
given  thee  ?  It  is  as  though  I  were  to  send  thee  frag- 
ments of  a  possession  already  thine.  Art  thou  not  my 
future  ?  I  regret  the  past,  those  years  that  belong  to 
us  no  more  ;  would  I  could  make  thee  sovereign  over 
them,  as  now  thou  art  over  my  present  life !  What 
was  the  period  of  my  existence  when  I  knew  thee  not  ? 
a  void,  —  except  for  wretchedness. 


120 


Louis  Lambert, 


Fragment. 

Angel  of  love,  how  sweet  a  meeting  was  that  of  yes- 
terday!  What  wealth  in  thy  dear  heart!  Thy  love  is 
inexhaustible,  like  mine.  Each  word  brought  me  fresh 
joys,  each  look  deepened  them.  The  calm  expression 
of  thy  face  gave  a  limitless  horizon  to  our  thoughts. 
Yes,  all  was  infinite  like  the  skies,  and  soft  as  their 
azure.  The  delicacy  of  those  adored  features  was  re- 
produced, I  know  not  how,  in  thy  graceful  movements, 
thy  pretty  gestures.  I  knew  thou  wert  all  grace,  all 
love  ;  but  I  did  not  know  the  variations  of  thy  charm. 
All  things  combined  last  night  to  counsel  those  de- 
licious solicitations,  those  pikers  for  the  first  favors 
which  a  woman  ever  denies,  doubtless  to  let  us  capture 
them.  But  no,  thou  dear  soul  of  my  life,  thou  couldst 
never  know  beforehand  what  thou  mightest  grant  to 
love;  perhaps  thou  mayest  give  thyself  at  last  without 
willing  it.  Thou  art  true ;  thy  own  heart  alone  con- 
trols thee. 

How  the  sweetness  of  thy  voice  blended  with  the 
harmonies  of  that  pure  sk3T,  those  tranquil  heavens ! 
Not  a  bird-note,  not  a  breeze  —  ourselves  and  solitude! 
Even  the  foliage  did  not  stir  in  those  rich  colors  of  the 
couchant  sun  which  are  both  light  and  shadow.  The 
celestial  poem  moved  thee  —  thee  in  whom  so  many 
feelings  gather ;  often  thine  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven 
lest  they  should  answer  mine  !  Ah,  Pauline,  stately  and 
smiling,  humble  and  despotic,  giving  thyself  without  re- 
serve in  soul,  in  thought,  yet  withdrawing  from  each 


Louis  Lambert. 


121 


timid  caress!  Dear  coyness  of  the  heart!  how  it 
vibrates  in  my  ear,  murmuring  still  those  precious 
words,  half-stammered  as  in  childhood,  —  words  that 
were  neither  promises  nor  avowals,  and  yet  they  left 
to  love  its  dearest  hopes  without  fears  and  without  tor- 
ture !  Chaste  memory  through  life  !  Blossoming  of  all 
the  flowers  born  in  the  depths  of  the  soul,  which  a 
breath  may  wither,  but  which  in  those  dear  moments 
lived  and  fructified  !  It  will  be  ever  thus,  my  loved 
one,  will  it  not?  Recalling,  this  morning,  the  fresh  and 
living  sweetness  that  played  about  us  at  that  moment, 
1  feel  a  happiness  within  my  soul  which  teaches  me  to 
conceive  Love  as  an  ocean  of  eternal  and  ever-new 
sensations,  where  we  may  plunge  forever  with  increas- 
ing j°Js-  Each  day,  each  word,  each  dear  caress,  each 
glance,  must  add  the  flowing  tribute  of  its  bliss.  Yes, 
hearts  so  great  that  t\\ey  remember  all  must  feel  at 
each  pulsation  their  past  delights  as  well  as  those  the 
future  offers  them.  This  is  what  I  dreamed  of  in  old 
ckays  ;  to-day  it  is  no  more  a  dream.  An  angel  has 
come  to  me  on  earth  and  made  me  know  all  joys, 
—  perhaps  to  compensate  me  for  having  known  all 
sorrows.  Angel  of  heaven,  I  salute  thee  with  a 
kiss. 

1  send  thee  this  hymn  as  it  springs  from  my  heart. 
I  owe  it  to  Thee,  who  art  the  spirit  of  my  life  ;  but  it 
tells  Thee  little  of  my  gratitude  or  of  the  matin  prayers 
which  nry  heart  daily  offers  to  her  who  taught  me  the 
heart's  gospel  in  one  blessed  word,  "  Believe." 


122 


Louis  Lambert. 


V. 

Dear  cherished  heart  !  what,  no  more  hindrances  ? 
Free  to  belong  to  each  other  each  day,  each  hour,  for- 
ever !    Happy  all  the  days  of  our  life  as  we  now  are 
furtively  at  rare  moments  !    Can  it  be  that  our  pure, 
deep  sentiments  will  take  the  form  of  those  exquisite 
caresses  of  which  I  dreamsd?   Thy  little  foot  will  bare 
itself  to  me  ;  thou  wilt  be  all  mine  !    Such  joy  kills  me, 
annihilates  me  !    My  head  is  too  weak  ;  it  bursts  under 
the  violence  of  my  thoughts.    I  weep,  I  laugh,  I  rave. 
Each  pleasure  is  like  a  flaming  arrow ;  it  pierces  me,  it 
burns  me.    My  imagination  brings  thee  before  my  rav- 
ished, dazzled  eyes  in  all  the  innumerable  capricious 
shapes  of  blissful  enjoyment.    Our  life  lies  there,  be- 
fore me,  with  its  flowing  tides,  its  pauses,  rests,  and 
joys  ;  it  foams,  it  broadens  into  peace,  it  sleeps  ;  then 
it  awakes,  young  and  vernal.    I  see  us  united,  stepping 
with  one  step,  living  in  one  thought,  ever  at  the  core 
of  each  other's  heart,  comprehending  ourselves,  hearing 
ourselves,  as  an  echo  receives  and  returns  sound  across 
the  intervales.    Can  we  live  long  if  life  is  thus  intense 
at  every  moment?    Shall  we  not  die  in  a  first  embrace? 
What  if  our  souls  already  mingled  in  that  soft  kiss  of 
evening,  in  which  our  strength  abandoned  us,  —  that 
fleeting  kiss,  first  fruit  of  my  desires,  impotent  inter- 
preter of  prayers  ascending  in  my  soul  when  absent 
from  thee,  yet  hidden  with  compunction  in  my  heart? 

Ah  !  can  it  be  that  I,  who  lay  so  often  beneath  the 
hedge  to  hear  the  sound  of  thy  feet  as  they  went  toward 


Louis  Lambert. 


123 


the  chateau,  that  I  am  to  love  thee  at  1113*  ease,  to  see 
thee  coming,  going,  laughing,  playing,  talking,  doing ! 
One  must  be  a  man  to  know  the  depth  and  meaning  of 
such  feelings  !  Each  of  thy  movements  gives  me  more 
pleasure  than  a  mother  feels  in  watching  her  babe  at 
play  or  sleeping.  I  love  thee  with  all  loves.  The  grace 
of  tlry  slightest  gesture  is  ever  new  to  me.  I  dream 
that  I  could  pass  whole  nights  in  breathing  thy  breath. 
Would  that  I  might  enter  every  action  of  tlry  life,  be 
the  substance  itself  of  tlry  thoughts,  —  nay,  more,  I 
would  be  thyself !  Never  again  am  I  to  leave  thee  ! 
No  human  pride  or  sentiment  can  henceforth  trouble 
our  love,  —  our  love  vast  as  the  sea,  vast  as  the  sky, 
infinite  in  its  transformations,  and  pure  as  all  else  that 
is  One.  Thou  art  mine  !  all  mine  !  I  may  gaze  into 
the  depths  of  those  eyes  to  find  the  dear  soul  that  hides 
there  and  divine  its  wishes.  My  loved  one,  listen  to 
something  I  have  not  dared  to  say  to  thee,  but  wThich 
I  dare  avow  to-day.  I  have  felt  within  me  a  nameless 
modesty  of  soul  which  would  not  let  me  give  expression 
to  all  my  feelings  ;  I  tried  to  clothe  them  with  the 
forms  of  thought.  But  now  I  long  to  bare  my  heart, 
to  tell  thee  all  the  ardor  of  my  dreams,  to  unveil  the 
throbbing  ambition  of  my  senses,  irritated  by  the  soli- 
tude in  which  I  have  lived,  stimulated  by  long  waiting 
for  happiness,  and  awakened  by  thee  —  by  thee,  so  soft 
in  form,  so  winning  in  manner ! 

But  it  is  not  possible  to  explain  this  thirst  for  those 
mysterious  joys  which  the  possession  of  the  woman  we 
love  bestows  upon  us,  and  to  which  two  souls  closely 


124 


Louis  Lambert. 


bound  in  love  must  bring  a  force  of  union  unparalleled. 
My  Pauline,  I  have  stood  entranced  for  hours  in  a 
stupor  caused  by  the  violence  of  my  passionate  desires ; 
lost  in  the  consciousness  of  a  caress,  as  in  a  depth  un- 
fathomable. I  dare  tell  thee  now  that  on  the  day  when 
I  refused  to  take  thy  hand,  held  out  to  me  with  such 
sweet  grace  (a  melancholy  virtue  which  made  thee 
doubt  my  love  !),  I  was  seized  by  the  momentary  mad- 
ness which  makes  a  man  imagine  murder  to  possess  a 
woman.  Yes,  had  I  felt  the  pressure  of  that  hand  as 
keenly  as  thy  voice  echoed  within  my  heart  I  know  not 
where  the  violence  of  my  feelings  might  have  led  me. 
But  I  can  suffer  much  and  be  silent. 

Ah,  why  speak  of  such  pains  when  my  visions  are 
to  become  realities?  Permission  is  mine  to  make  our 
life  a  long  caress  !  My  cherished  loved  one,  a  light 
rests  on  thine  ebon  hair  with  such  effects  that  I  could 
stand  absorbed  for  hours  in  contemplating  thy  dear 
person  if  thou  didst  not  say  to  me,  turning  quickly, 
"  Cease,  cease,  you  shame  me  !  "  To-morrow  our  love 
will  know  itself!  Ah,  Pauline,  the  eyes,  the  looks  of 
others,  that  public  curiosity  —  I  cannot  bear  them ! 
Let  us  go  to  Villenoix  ;  let  us  stay  there,  far  from  every 
one.  I  desire  that  no  creature  of  human  kind  should 
enter  the  sanctuary  where  thou  art  mine  ;  I  would  that 
after  us  no  life  existed,  that  all  things  were  destroyed. 
Yes,  I  would  tear  from  nature  herself  a  happiness  we 
alone  can  comprehend,  we  alone  can  feel,  —  a  happiness 
so  vast,  so  illimitable,  that  I  fling  myself  into  it  to  die  ; 
it  is  an  abyss. 


Louis  Lambert. 


125 


Do  not  be  terrified  by  the  tears  which  moisten  this 
letler  ;  they  are  tears  of  joy.  Sole  joy  of  mine  !  We 
are  about  to  meet  to  part  no  more. 

In  1823  I  was  travelling  from  Paris  to  Touraine  in 
the  diligence.  When  we  reached  Mer  the  conductor 
took  a  passenger  for  Blois.  As  he  opened  the  door 
of  the  division  of  the  coach  in  which  I  was  he  said  to 
this  person,  laughing,  "  You  will  not  be  squeezed,  Mon- 
sieur Lefebre."  I  was,  in  fact,  alone.  Hearing  the 
name,  and  seeing  an  old  gentleman  with  white  hair  who 
appeared  to  be  an  octogenarian,  I  naturally  thought  of 
Lambert's  uncle.  After  a  few  indirect  questions,  I 
found  I  was  not  mistaken.  The  old  priest  had  sold 
his  vintages  at  Mer  and  was  returning  to  Blois.  I  at 
once  asked  for  news  of  my  school  friend.  At  the  first 
mention  of  Lambert's  name,  the  face  of  the  old  Orato- 
rian,  already  grave  and  severe  as  that  of  a  soldier  who 
has  suffered,  grew  darker  and  sadder ;  the  lines  of  his 
forehead  contracted,  he  pressed  his  lips  together,  gave 
me  a  doubtful  look,  and  said  :  — 

u  You  have  not  seen  him  since  your  schooldays?" 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  But  we  are  equally  guilty  of  ne- 
glect, if  neglect  it  be.  You  know  the  eager  and  adven- 
turous life  that  young  men  lead  after  they  leave  college  ; 
they  must  meet  again  before  they  know  if  their  attachment 
continues.  However,  a  youthful  sentiment  sometimes 
survives,  and  then  it  is  impossible  to  forget  altogether,  es- 
pecially in  the  case  of  such  friends  as  Lambert  and  I.  In 
college  the}:  used  to  call  us  the  6  Poet-and-Pythagoras.' " 


126 


Louis  Lambert. 


I  tolcl  him  my  name  ;  but  when  he  heard  it  his  face 
grew  darker  still. 

4 4  Then  you  do  not  know  his  history?"  he  said. 
44  My  poor  nephew  was  to  have  married  the  richest 
heiress  in  Blois,  but  he  went  mad  the  evening  before 
his  marriage." 

"  Lambert  mad  !  "  I  exclaimed,  bewildered.  "From 
what  cause  ?  His  was  the  richest  memory,  the  best  or- 
ganized mind,  the  most  sagacious  judgment  I  have  ever 
met.  Glorious  genius  !  too  much  inclined,  perhaps,  to 
mysticism,  but  the  noblest  heart  in  the  world  !  Some 
most  extraordinary  thing  must  have  happened  to  him." 

44 1  see  that  you  knew  him  well/'  said  the  old  man. 

From  Mer  to  Blois  we  talked  of  my  poor  comrade 
with  man}T  digressions,  through  which  I  learned  the 
particulars  of  his  story  which  I  have  alread}'  related,  in 
order  to  give  sequence  to  these  facts  and  render  them 
interesting.  I  told  his  uncle  of  our  secret  studies  and 
the  nature  of  his  nephew's  cherished  occupations  ;  in 
return  he  related  to  me  the  chief  events  of  Lambert's 
life  after  our  separation.  According  to  Monsieur  Le- 
febre's  account  Lambert  must  have  shown  signs  of 
madness  before  his  marriage.  But  as  these  symptoms 
were  like  those  of  other  men  passionately  in  love, 
I  thought  them  less  characteristic  of  insanity  after  I 
knew  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  and  the  ardor  of  his 
feeling  for  her.  In  the  provinces,  where  ideas  have  a 
tendency  to  rarefy,  a  man  full  of  novel  thoughts  and 
possessed  by  theories,  like  Louis,  would  naturally  be 
considered  an  original.    His  very  language  was  sur- 


Louis  Lambert. 


127 


prising,  —  all  the  more  because  he  seldom  talked.  He 
would  say  of  this  or  that  man,  u  He  does  not  belong 
to  my  heaven,"  just  as  others  might  say,  44  We  are  not 
on  visiting  terms."  Every  man  of  genius  has  his  semi- 
insane  points.  The  greater  his  genius,  the  more  salient 
are  the  peculiarities  which  constitute  the  different  de- 
grees of  his  originality.  In  the  provinces  an  original 
man  is  rated  as  half-insane. 

The  first  words  Monsieur  Lefebre  said  made  me 
doubt  my  comrade's  madness  ;  while  I  listened  to  the 
old  man  I  mentally  criticised  his  statements.  The 
most  important  symptom  showed  itself  several  days 
before  the  marriage  was  to  take  place.  Louis  had  a 
well-defined  attack  of  catalepsy.  He  remained  stand- 
ing for  fifty-nine  hours,  motionless,  his  eyes  fixed,  with- 
out speaking  or  eating,  —  a  purely  nervous  state  into 
which  persons  are  liable  to  fall  when  a  prey  to  violent 
passions,  a  phenomenon  rare  to  be  sure  but  whose 
etfects  are  perfectly  well  known  to  physicians.  If  there 
were  amTthing  extraordinary  about  this  seizure  it  was 
that  Louis  had  not  already  had  several  attacks  of  the 
same  malady,  to  which  his  habit  of  ecstasy  and  the 
nature  of  his  ideas  predisposed  him.  But  his  consti- 
tution, both  external  and  internal,  was  so  perfect  that 
it  had  hitherto  resisted  this  strain  on  his  powers.  The 
exaltation  to  which  he  was  brought  by  the  expectation 
of  his  marriage,  increased,  in  him,  by  the  chastity  of  his 
body  and  the  power  of  his  soul,  might  very  likely  have 
brought  on  this  nervous  crisis,  whose  results  are  no 
better  understood  than  their  cause.     The  foregoing 


128 


Louis  Lambert. 


letters,  accidentally  preserved,  show  plainly  enough  his 
transition  from  the  pure  idealism  in  which  he  lived  to 
the  most  acute  plrysical  emotions.  In  our  college  days 
we  were  filled  with  admiration  for  that  human  phenom- 
enon in  which  Lambert  was  able  to  see  the  temporary 
separation  of  our  two  natures,  and  the  symptoms  of  a 
total  absence  of  the  inward  being  using  its  nrysterious 
faculties  under  the  rule  of  some  cause  as  yet  undiscov- 
ered. Catalepsy,  a  mystery  as  deep  as  sleep  itself, 
formed  part  of  the  collection  of  proof  which  Louis  had 
annexed  to  his  u  Treatise  on  the  Will."  While  Mon- 
sieur Lefebre  wras  telling  me  of  Lambert's  first  attack, 
I  suddenly  remembered  a  conversation  we  had  had  on 
this  subject  after  reading  a  medical  book. 

"Deep  meditation  or  glorious  ecstasy,"  he  said, 
"  ma}T  be  catalepsy  in  the  bud." 

The  day  when  he  expressed  this  thought  thus  con- 
cisely he  had  been  trjing  to  link  all  moral  phenomena 
together  by  a  chain  of  effects,  —  following  step  by 
step  all  actions  of  the  intellect,  beginning  with  the 
simple  stirrings  of  purely  animal  instinct,  which  suffice 
for  so  many  human  beings,  especially  for  certain  men 
whose  strength  excels  in  purely  mechanical  labor ;  and 
then  passing  to  the  aggregation  of  thoughts,  until  he 
reached  comparison,  meditation,  and  finally  ecstas3T, 
and  thus  catalepsy.  Undoubtedly  Lambert  believed, 
with  the  artless  consciousness  of  early  youth,  that  he  had 
planned  a  noble  book  in  thus  marshalling  the  different 
degrees  of  mental  power  in  man.  I  remember  that  by 
one  of  those  fatalities  which  force  us  to  believe  in 


Louis  Lambert. 


129 


predestination,  we  happened  upon  the  4 4  Book  of  the 
Martyrs,"  which  relates  very  curious  facts  as  to  the 
complete  abolition  of  corporeal  life  to  which  man  can 
attain  during  the  paroxysms  of  his  inward  faculties. 
Reflecting  on  the  effects  of  fanaticism,  Lambert  was  led 
to  think  that  the  collection  of  ideas  to  which  we  give 
the  name  of  sentiments  might  be  the  material  effluence 
of  some  fluid  which  men  produce  in  more  or  less  abun- 
dance according  to  the  manner  in  which  their  organs 
absorb  the  generating  substances  in  the  centres  where 
they  live.  We  grew  eager  in  the  study  of  catalepsy, 
and,  with  the  ardor  which  lads  put  into  their  under- 
takings, we  tried  to  endure  pain  by  thinking  of  other 
things.  We  fatigued  ourselves  terribly  by  trying  cer- 
tain experiments  analogous  to  those  of  the  Spasmodics 
of  the  last  century,  —  a  religious  fanaticism  which  will 
some  day  be  of  use  to  human  science.  I  stood  on  Lam- 
bert's stomach  for  several  minutes  without  causing  him 
the  least  pain  ;  but  in  spite  of  such  foolish  experiments, 
neither  of  us  were  attacked  with  cataleps}\ 

I  have  felt  it  necessary  to  give  the  foregoing  expla- 
nation of  my  doubts  as  to  Louis's  madness,  which  Mon- 
sieur Lefebre's  further  statement  fully  confirmed. 

44  When  the  attack  was  over,"  he  said,  44nry  nephew 
was  seized  with  terror  and  fell  into  a  state  of  the  pro- 
foundest  melancholy.  He  believed  himself  impotent. 
I  watched  him  with  the  solicitude  of  a  mother  for  her 
child,  and  prevented  him  one  day  from  performing  on 
himself  the  operation  to  which  Origen  supposed  he 
owed  his  gifts.    I  took  him  at  once  to  Paris  and 

9 


130 


Louis  Lambert. 


placed  him  under  the  care  of  Monsieur  Esquirol.  Dur- 
ing the  journey  Louis  remained  in  a  state  of  almost 
continual  somnolence,  and  did  not  recognize  me.  The 
physicians  in  Paris  thought  him  incurable,  and  unani- 
mously advised  his  being  left  in  complete  solitude,  care 
being  taken  that  nothing  should  disturb  the  quiet  neces- 
sary for  his  very  improbable  recovery  ;  they  also  advised 
my  keeping  him  in  a  cool  room,  somewhat  darkened. 
Mademosielle  de  Villenoix,  from  whom  I  concealed  his 
actual  condition,  followed  us  to  Paris  and  there  learned 
the  decision  of  the  doctors.    She  asked  to  see  my 
nephew,  who  scarcely  recognized  her ;  she  then  deter- 
mined, after  the  fashion  of  noble  souls,  to  consecrate 
her  life  to  his  service  and  give  him  the  care  that  was 
necessary  for  his  recovery.     <  I   should  have  been 
obliged  to  do  so/  she  said,  '  were  he  my  husband  ;  why 
should  I  do  less  for  my  lover?'    She  took  Louis  to 
Villenoix,  where  they  have  been  living  for  the  last  two 
years." 

Instead  of  continuing  my  journey  I  stopped  at  Blois, 
intending  to  go  and  see  Louis.  The  worthy  old  priest 
would  not  let  me  stay  at  an  inn,  but  took  me  to  his  own 
house,  where  he  showed  me  his  nephew's  room,  with 
the  books  and  articles  that  belonged  to  him.  As  he 
glanced  round  it  a  sad  exclamation  rose  to  the  old 
man's  lips,  reveahng  the  hopes  which  Lambert's  pre- 
cocious genius  had  excited  in  his  mind,  and  the  dreary 
desolation  of  his  irreparable  loss. 

"  That  young  man  knew  all  things,"  he  said,  taking 
down  a  volume  which  contained  the  writings  of  Spinoza. 


Louis  Lambert. 


131 


"  How  could  a  mind  so  well  organized  become  un- 
hinged? " 

"But,  Monsieur,"  I  replied,  "  may  it  not  have  been 
an  effect  of  his  vigorous  organization  ?  If  he  is  really 
the  victim  of  that  crisis,  so  insufficiently  observed  in  its 
manifestations,  which  we  call  insanity,  I  am  tempted 
to  ascribe  the  cause  to  his  passion.  His  studies,  his 
ways  of  life,  had  brought  his  faculties  to  a  degree  of 
power  at  which  the  slightest  over-excitement  of  them 
compelled  nature  to  give  way.  Love  either  destroyed 
them  or  raised  them  to  some  other  mode  of  expression, 
which,  perhaps,  we  calumniate  as  madness,  without 
comprehending  its  true  quality.  In  short,  may  he  not 
have  foreseen  in  the  pleasures  of  his  marriage  an  obsta- 
cle to  the  perfectibility  of  his  interior  senses  and  to  .  his 
flight  through  the  spiritual  worlds  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  old  priest,  after  listening  to 
me  very  attentively,  "  your  reasoning  is  no  doubt  logical ; 
but  even  if  I  agreed  with  it,  the  melancholy  knowledge  it 
imparts  would  not  comfort  me  for  the  loss  of  my  nephew." 

Lambert's  uncle  was  one  of  the  men  who  live  only 
through  the  heart. 

The  next  day  I  started  for  Villenoix.  Monsieur  Le- 
febre  accompanied  me  to  the  gate  of  Blois.  When  he 
had  put  me  into  the  road  which  leads  to  Villenoix  he 
stopped,  and  said  :  — 

"  You  can  easily  understand  that  I  never  go  there. 
Do  not  forget  what  I  have  said  to  you.  In  presence  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  be  careful  not  to  appear  to 
see  that  Louis  is  mad." 


132 


Louis  Lambert. 


The  old  priest  remained  where  I  left  him,  looking 
after  me  until  I  was  out  of  sight.    It  was  not  without 
deep  emotion  that  I  continued  my  way  to  Villenoix. 
Reflections  crowded  upon  me  at  every  step  of  the  way 
which  Louis  had  so  often  traversed  with  a  heart  full  of 
hope  and  a  soul  elated  by  the  promptings  of  love.  The 
shrubs,  the  trees,  the  caprices  of  the  winding  way  whose 
borders  were  rent  here  and  there  by  tiny  ravines,  all  had 
the  deepest  interest  for  me  ;  I  tried  to  revive  from  and 
through  them  the  thoughts  and  impressions  of  my  poor 
comrade.    No  doubt  the  evening  conversations  of  which 
his  letters  tell,  beside  the  hedge  where  his  mistress  met 
him,  had  initiated  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  into  the 
secrets  of  that  vast  and  noble  soul,  as  in  my  own  case  a 
few  years  earlier.    But  the  fact  which  most  preoccupied 
me,  and  which  gave  to  my  pilgrimage  a  deep  interest  of 
curiosity  in  addition  to  the  half-religious  emotions  which 
guided  me,  was  that  splendid  belief  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Villenoix  in  her  lover's  sanity,  of  which  the  old  priest 
had  warned  me.    Had  she,  as  time  went  on,  contracted 
his  madness  ;  or  was  she  able  to  enter  the  portals  of  that 
soul  and  comprehend  its  thoughts,  even  the  most  per- 
plexing?   I  lost  myself  in  meditation  over  this  problem 
of  a  sentiment  higher  than  the  highest  inspirations  of 
love  and  its  noblest  devotions.    To  die  for  another  is  a 
common  sacrifice.     To  live  faithful  to  a  single  love  is  a 
heroism  that  made  Mademoiselle  Dupuis  immortal.  If 
Napoleon  the  Great  and  Lord  Byron  had  successors  in 
the  hearts  that  once  loved  them,  we  may  be  allowed  to 
reverence  this  widow  of  Bolingbroke  ;  but  Mademoiselle 


Louis  Lambert. 


133 


Dupuis  possessed  the  memory  of  many  }Tears  of  hap- 
piness on  which  to  live,  while  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix, 
knowing  nothing  of  love  but  its  earliest  sentiments, 
seemed  to  my  eyes  the  type  of  self-devotion  in  its 
broadest  expression.  If  she  had  become  half-mad,  she 
was  sublime ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  she  compre- 
hended and  interpreted  the  madness  of  him  she  loved, 
she  added  to  the  beauty  of  a  great  heart  a  master-gift 
of  passion  worthy  of  being  studied. 

When  I  saw  the  high  towers  of  the  chateau,  a  sight 
that  so  often  had  made  poor  Lambert  quiver,  my  heart 
beat  violently.  I  had  associated  myself,  so  to  speak, 
with  his  present  life  and  situation  by  recalling  to  mind 
the  events  of  our  boyhood.  Before  long,  I  entered  a 
deserted  courtyard  and  even  entered  the  vestibule  of 
the  chateau  without  meeting  any  one.  The  noise  of  my 
steps  brought  out  an  old  woman,  to  whom  I  gave  a  letter 
which  Monsieur  Lefebre  had  written  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Villenoix.  Presently  the  same  woman  returned  to 
fetch  me,  and  showed  me  into  a  lower  room,  paved  with 
black  and  white  marble  and  darkened  by  closed  blinds, 
at  the  further  end  of  which  I  saw,  very  indistinctly, 
Louis  Lambert. 

"  WuTyou  take  this  chair,  Monsieur?"  said  a  sweet 
voice  which  went  to  my  heart. 

Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  was  beside  me,  though  I 
had  not  perceived  her,  and  now  offered  me  a  chair 
which  at  first  I  did  not  take.  The  obscurity  of  the 
room  was  so  great  that  until  I  grew  accustomed  to  it 
Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix  and  Louis  seemed  two  black 


134 


Louis  Lambert. 


masses  projected  from  the  depths  of  the  murky  atmos- 
phere. I  sat  down,  a  prey  to  the  feelings  "which  over- 
come us,  almost  in  spite  of  ourselves,  under  the  sombre 
arches  of  a  church.  My  eyes,  still  influenced  by  the 
sunlight,  only  gradually  grew  accustomed  to  the  artifi- 
cial night. 

u  This  gentleman,"  she  said  to  him,  "  is  your  college 
friend." 

Louis  made  no  reply.  I  could  now  see  him,  and  the 
sight  was  one  that  stamped  itself  upon  my  memory 
everlasting!}'.  He  stood,  both  elbows  resting  on  a  pro- 
jection of  the  wood-work,  so  that  his  chest  seemed  to 
bend  under  the  weight  of  his  bowed  head.  His  hair, 
which  was  long  like  that  of  a  woman,  fell  over  his 
shoulders  and  round  his  face  in  a  manner  that  gave 
him  some  resemblance  to  the  busts  of  great  men  of  the 
time  of  Louis  XIV.  His  face  was  perfectly  white. 
Pie  rubbed  one  leg  against  the  other  habitually,  with  a 
mechanical  movement  that  nothing  could  check,  and  the 
continual  friction  of  the  two  bones  produced  a  distress- 
ing noise.  Near  him  was  a  mattress  made  of  moss, 
lying  on  a  plank. 

"  He  seldom  lies  down,"  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix 
said  to  me;  "when  he  does,  he  sleeps  for  several 
days." 

Louis  stood,  just  as  I  now  saw  him,  clay  and  night, 
with  fixed  eyes,  never  raising  or  lowering  the  lids,  as 
others  do.  Having  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix 
whether  a  little  more  light  would  pain  him,  I  slightly 
opened  one  blind,  and  could  then  see  the  expression 


Louis  Lambert. 


105 


of  my  friend's  countenance.  Alas !  already  wrinkled, 
already  blanched !  no  longer  any  light  in  the  eyes, 
which  were  glassy  like  those  of  the  blind.  All  his 
i  features  seemed  drawn  b}T  some  convulsion  toward  the 
top  of  his  head.  I  tried  to  speak  to  him  from  time  to 
time  $  but  he  did  not  hear  me.  He  was  a  corpse 
snatched  from  a  tomb,  a  sort  of  conquest  won  by  life 
over  death,  or  by  death  over  life.  I  was  there  nearly 
an  hour,  lost  in  undefinable  revery,  harrowed  b}T  afflict- 
ing thoughts.  I  listened  to  Mademoiselle  de  Villenoix 
who  told  me  all  the  details  of  this,  as  it  were,  infant 
life.  Suddenly  Louis  ceased  to  rub  his  legs  one  against 
the  other,  and  said  slowly,  "  The  angels  are  white" 

I  cannot  explain  the  effect  produced  upon  me  by 
these  words,  by  the  sound  of  that  loved  voice,  by  the 
tones  I  was  painfully  awaiting,  which  now  seemed  to 
take  him  forever  away  from  me.  In  spite  of  myself, 
tears  filled  my  e}'es.  An  involuntary  consciousness 
passed  rapidly  through  my  soul,  and  made  me  doubt 
more  strongly  than  ever  if  Louis's  reason  had  left  him. 
I  was  very  certain  that  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  me, 
but  the  harmonies  of  that  voice,  which  seemed  to  speak 
a  joy  divine,  communicated  to  the  words  he  had  uttered 
an  irresistible  power.  Incomplete  revelation  of  an  un- 
known world,  that  saying  echoed  in  our  souls  like  some 
glorious  chime  of  bells  heard  in  the  silence  of  a  dark- 
some night.  I  no  longer  wondered  why  Mademoiselle 
de  Villenoix  thought  him  sane.  Perhaps  the  life  of  the 
soul  had  annihilated  the  life  of  the  bod}r.  Perhaps  his 
companion  iiad  had,  as  I  had  then,  vague  intuitions  of 


136 


Louis  Lambert. 


that  melodious  and  flowering  Nature  which  we  call,  in 
its  highest  development,  heaven.  This  woman,  this 
angel,  was  ever  there,  sitting  at  her  tapestry  frame,  and 
\  looking  up  to  him  with  a  sad  and  tender  expression  as 
she  drew  the  needle  through  her  work.  Unable  to  bear 
the  dreadful  sight,  for  I  could  not,  like  Mademoiselle  de 
Villenoix,  divine  its  secrets,  I  left  the  room  ;  she  fol- 
lowed me  and  we  walked  up  and  down  for  some  time 
while  she  spoke  of  herself  and  of  Lambert. 

"No  doubt  Louis  appears  to  be  insane,"  she  said, 
"  but  he  is  not  so,  if  the  word  insanity  is  applied  only 
to  those  whose  brain,  from  unknown  causes,  becomes 
vitiated,  and  who  are,  therefore,  unable  to  give  a  reason 
for  their  acts.  The  equilibrium  of  my  husband's  mind 
is  perfect.  If  he  does  not  recognize  you  corporeal^, 
do  not  think  that  he  has  not  seen  you.  He  is  able  to 
disengage  his  body  and  to  see  us  under  another  form,  I 
know  not  of  what  nature.  When  he  speaks,  he  says 
marvellous  things.  Only,  in  fact  often,  he  completes  in 
speech  an  idea  begun  in  the  silence  of  his  mind,  or  else 
he  begins  a  proposition  in  words  and  finishes  it  men- 
tally. To  other  men  he  must  appear  insane ;  to  me, 
who  live  in  his  thought,  all  his  ideas  are  lucid.  I  follow 
the  path  of  his  mind  ;  and  though  I  cannot  understand 
many  of  its  turnings  and  digressions,  I,  nevertheless, 
reach  the  end  with  him.  Does  it  not  often  happen  that 
while  thinking  of  some  trifling  matter,  we  are  drawn 
into  serious  thought  by  the  gradual  unfolding  of  ideas 
and  recollections  ?  Often,  after  speaking  of  some  frivo- 
lous thing,  the  accidental  point  of  departure  for  rapid 


Louis  Lambert.  137 


meditation,  a  thinker  forgets,  or  neglects  to  mention 
the  abstract  links  which  have  led  him  to  his  conclusions; 
and  takes  up  in  speech  only  the  last  rings  in  the  chain 
of  reflections.  Common  minds  to  whom  this  quickness 
of  mental  vision  is  unknown,  and  who  are  ignorant  of 
the  inward  travail  of  the  soul,  laugh  at  dreamers  and 
call  them  madmen  if  they  are  given  to  such  forgetful- 
ness  of  connecting  thoughts.  Louis  is  always  so  ;  he 
wings  his  wa}T  through  the  spaces  of  thought  with  the 
agility  of  a  swallow ;  yet  I  can  follow  him  in  all  his 
circlings.  That  is  the  histor}T  of  his  so-called  madness. 
Perhaps  he  will  one  day  return  to  this  world  in  which 
we  vegetate  ;  but  if  now  he  breathes  the  air  of  heaven 
before  the  time  appointed  for  us  to  live  there,  why 
should  we  wish  him  back  among  us  ?  I  am  content  to 
hear  the  beating  of  his  heart ;  it  is  happiness  enough 
for  me  to  live  beside  him.  Is  he  not  all  mine  ?  Twice 
in  the  last  two  years  and  at  separate  times,  I  have  re- 
gained him  for  several  days,  —  once  in  Switzerland,  and 
again  in  Brittany,  where  I  took  him  for  sea-bathing.  I 
can  live  on  those  memories." 

u  But,"  I  said,  "  do  you  not  write  down  the  thoughts 
he  sometimes  utters  ?  " 

64  Why  should  I?  "  she  answered. 

I  kept  silence ;  human  science  was  petty  indeed 
beside  this  woman. 

"At  first,  when  he  began  to  speak,"  she  added, 
"I  gathered  together  a  few  sentences,  but  I  soon 
ceased  to  do  so.  I  was  unable  then  to  understand 
him." 


138  Louis  Lambert. 


I  asked  her  for  that  record,  mutely,  by  a  glance. 
She  understood  me ;  the  following  thoughts  are  those 
that  I  thus  rescued  from  oblivion. 

L 

Here  below,  all  is  the  product  of  an  Ethereal  Sub- 
stance, the  common  base  of  several  phenomena  known 
under  the  vulgar  names  of  Electricity,  Heat,  Light,  Gal- 
vanic and  Magnetic  Fluid,  etc.  The  universality  of 
the  transmutations  of  this  Substance  constitutes  what 
is  commonly  called  Matter. 

II. 

The  brain  is  a  retort,  where  the  Animal  carries,  ac- 
cording to  the  strength  of  the  apparatus,  all  that  each 
one  of  its  constituent  parts  is  able  to  absorb  of  that 
Substance  ;  and  out  of  which  it  issues  in  the  form  of 
Will. 

Will  is  a  fluid,  the  attribute  of  every  being  endowed 
with  motion.  Hence  the  innumerable  forms  which  the 
Animal  takes  on ;  which  are  the  effects  of  its  combina- 
tion with  Substance.  Its  instincts  are  the  product  of 
the  necessities  forced  upon  it  b}^  the  conditions  in  which 
it  develops.    Hence  its  varieties. 

III. 

In  man,  Will  becomes  a  force  characteristic  of  the 
human  species ;  surpassing  in  intensity  that  of  all 
other  species. 


Louis  Lambert. 


139 


IV. 

By  constant  nutrition  Will  is  related  to  Substance  ; 
finding  it  in  all  transmutations  when  penetrated  by 
Thought,  —  which  is  a  product  peculiar  to  the  human 
Will  combined  with  modifications  of  Substance. 

V. 

From  the  greater  or  the  lesser  perfection  of  the  hu- 
man apparatus  come  the  innumerable  forms  which 
Thought  assumes. 

VI. 

Will  is  exerted  by  organs  vulgarly  called  the  five 
senses  ;  which  are  in  fact  but  one,  namely,  the  faculty 
of  seeing.  Touch  and  taste,  hearing  and  smell,  are 
sight,  adapted  to  those  transformations  of  Substance 
which  a  man  can  grasp  in  its  two  conditions,  modified 
and  unmodified. 

VII. 

All  things  pertaining,  through  Form,  to  the  domain 
of  a  single  sense,  namely,  the  faculty  of  sight,  reduce 
themselves  to  a  few  elementary  bodies  whose  principles 
are  in  the  air,  in  the  light,  or  in  the  principles  of  air 
and  light.  Sound  is  a  modification  of  air ;  all  colors 
are  modifications  of  light ;  all  perfumes  are  a  combina- 
tion of  air  and  light ;  consequently,  the  four  manifesta- 
tions of  matter  in  its  relation  to  man,  namely,  sound, 
color,  perfume,  and  form,  have  one  and  the  same  origin  ; 


140 


Louis  Lambert, 


the  day  is  not  far  off  when  the  affiliation  of  the  principles 
of  light  with  those  of  air  will  be  recognized.  Thought, 
allied  to  light,  expresses  itself  by  words,  allied  to  sound! 
For  it,  therefore,  all  is  derived  from  Substance,  the 
transformations  of  which  differ  only  by  NUMBER,  by 
a  given  quantity,  the  proportions  of  which  produce' the 
individuals  or  the  things  constituting  the  divisions  of 
nature  called  Kingdoms. 

VIII. 

When  Substance  is  absorbed  in  a  sufficing  Number 
it  converts  man  into  an  apparatus  of  enormous  power, 
which  communicates  with  the  essence  itself  of  Sub- 
stance, and  acts  upon  organized  nature  after  the  man- 
ner of  great  currents  which  absorb  little  ones.  Volition 
sets  to  work  this  force,  which  is  independent  of  thought, 
and,  by  its  concentration,  acquires  some  of  the  proper- 
ties of  Substance,  such  as  the  rapidity  of  light,  the 
interpenetrating  quality  of  electricity,  the  faculty  of 
saturating  bodies ;  to  which  must  be  added  intelligent 
knowledge  of  what  it  does.     But  there  is  in  man  a 
primal  and  controlling  phenomenon  which  admits  of  no 
analysis.    Decompose  man  to  the  utmost,  and  we  may 
perhaps  discover  the  elements  of  Thought  and  of  Will,  " 
but  we  shall  also  find,  without  being  able  to  solve  it,' 
the  unknown  quantity,  that  X  against  which  I  vainly 
flung  myself  in  earlier  days.    This  X  is  the  Logos, 
whose  touch  burns  and  destroys  all  such  as  are  not 
prepared  to  receive    it.     It  ceaselessly  engenders 
Substance. 


Louis  Lambert, 


141 


IX. 

Anger,  like  all  our  passionate  expressions,  is  a  cur- 
rent of  human  force  acting  electrically ;  its  agitation, 
when  it  is  disengaged,  acts  upon  persons  present  even 
if  they  are  neither  the  object  nor  the  cause  of  it.  Do 
we  not  meet  with  men  who,  by  a  discharge  of  their  voli- 
tion, reduce  and  refine  the  sentiments  of  the  masses  ? 

X. 

Fanaticism,  and  all  other  sentiments,  are  Living 
Forces.  These  forces  become  in  certain  beings  rivers 
of  Will,  which  gather  up  and  carry  away  everything. 

XI. 

If  space  exists,  certain  faculties  bestow  the  power  of 
traversing  it  with  such  rapidity  that  their  effects  are 
equivalent  to  its  abolition.  From  thy  couch  to  the 
frontiers  of  the  world  there  are  but  two  steps :  Will 

—  Faith. 

XII. 

Facts  are  nought;  they  do  not  exist;  Ideas  alone 
subsist. 

XIII. 

The  world  of  Ideas  divides  itself  into  three  spheres, 

—  that  of  Instinct ;  that  of  Abstractions ;  that  of 
Specialism.^ 


142 


Louis  Lambert. 


XIV. 

The  greater  part  of  visible  Humanity,  that  is,  the 
weaker  part,  inhabits  the  sphere  of  Instinctivity.  The 
Ins ti natives  are  born,  work,  and  die  without  rising  to 
the  second  degree  of  human  intelligence,  namely,  Ab- 
straction. 

XV. 

At  Abstraction  Society  begins.  Though  Abstraction 
as  compared  with  Instinct  is  an  almost  divine  power, 
it  is  infinitely  feeble  compared  with  the  endowment  of 
Specialism,  which  alone  can  explain  God.  Abstraction 
comprises  within  it  a  whole  nature  in  germ,  as  poten- 
tially as  the  seed  contains  the  system  of  a  plant  and  all 
its  products.  From  Abstraction  are  derived  laws,  arts, 
interests,  social  ideas.  It  is  the  glory  and  scourge  of 
the  world.  Glorious,  it  creates  societies ;  baneful,  it 
exempts  man  from  entering  the  path  of  Specialism 
which  leads  to  the  Infinite.  Man  judges  all  things  by 
his  abstractions,  —  good,  evil,  virtue,  crime.  His  formu- 
las of  right  are  his  scales,  and  his  justice  is  blind ;  the 
justice  of  God  sees,  —  in  that  is  everything.  There  are, 
necessarily,  intermediate  beings  who  separate  the  King- 
dom of  the  Instinctives  from  the  Kingdom  of  the 
Abstractives,  in  whom  Instinctivity  mixes  with  Ab- 
stractivity  in  endless  variety  of  proportion.  Some  have 
more  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter,  and  vice  versa. 
Also,  there  are  beings  in  whom  the  action  of  each  is 
neutralized  because  both  are  moved  by  an  equal  force. 


Louis  Lambert. 


143 


XVI. 

Specialism  consists  in  seeing  the  things  of  the  ma- 
terial world  as  well  as  those  of  the  spiritual  world  in 
their  original-  and  consequential  ramifications.  The 
highest  human  genius  is  that  which  starts  from  the 
shadows  of  Abstraction  to  advance  into  the  light  of 
Specialism.  (Specialism,  species,  sight,  speculation, 
seeing  all,  and  that  at  one  glance  :  Speculum,  the  mir- 
ror or  means  of  estimating  a  thing  by  seeing  it  in  its 
entirety.)  Jesus  was  a  Specialist.  He  saw  the  deed 
in  its  roots  and  in  its  products  ;  in  the  past  which  begot 
it,  in  the  present  where  it  is  manifested,  in  the  future 
where  it  develops ;  his  sight  penetrated  the  under- 
standing of  others.  The  perfection  of  the  inward  sight 
gives  birth  to  the  gift  of  Specialism.  Specialism  carries 
with  it  Intuition.  Intuition  is  a  faculty  of  the  Inner 
Man,  of  whom  Specialism  is  an  attribute.  It  acts  by 
an  imperceptible  sensation,  of  which  he  who  obeys  it  is 
ignorant  —  witness  Napoleon  instinctively  changing  his 
position  before  the  bullet  came  which  would  have  struck 
him. 

XVII. 

Between  the  sphere  of  Specialism  and  the  sphere  of 
Abstraction,  and  likewise  between  those  spheres  and 
that  of  Instinctivity,  we  find  beings  in  whom  the  diverse 
attributes  of  the  two  kingdoms  are  mingled,  producing 
a  mixed  nature,  —  the  man  of  genius. 


144 


Louis  Lambert. 


XVIII. 

The  Specialist  is  necessarily  the  loftiest  expression 
of  Man,  —  the  link  which  connects  the  visible  to  the 
superior  worlds.  He  acts,  he  sees,  he  feels  through  his 
Inner  Being.  The  Abstractive  thinks.  The  Instinc- 
tive simply  acts. 

XIX. 

Hence  three  degrees  for  Man.  As  an  Instinctive  he 
is  below  the  level ;  as  an  Abstractive  he  attains  to  it ; 
as  a  Specialist  he  rises  above  it.  Specialism  opens  to 
man  his  true  career ;  the  Infinite  dawns  upon  him,  he 
catches  a  glimpse  of  his  destiny. 

XX. 

There  exist  three  worlds  — the  Natural  World, 
the  Spiritual  World,  the  Divine  World.  Humanity 
moves  hither  and  thither  in  the  Natural  World,  which  is 
fixed  neither  in  its  essence  nor  in  its  properties.  The 
Spiritual  World  is  fixed  in  its  essence  and  variable  in 
its  properties.  The  Divine  World  is  fixed  in  its  prop- 
erties and  in  its  essence.  Consequently,  there  is  a  ma- 
terial worship,  a  spiritual  worship,  a  divine  worship  ; 
which  three  are  manifested  by  Action,  Word,  and 
Prayer,  or  (to  express  it  otherwise)  Deed,  Understand- 
ing, Love.  The  Instinctive  desires  deeds ;  the  Ab- 
stractive turns  to  ideas  ;  the  Specialist  sees  the  End, 
he  aspires  to  God,  whom  he  inwardly  perceives  or 
contemplates. 


Louis  Lambert, 


145 


XXI. 

Therefore,  perhaps  one  day  the  inverse  sense  of  Et 
Verbo  caro  Factum  will  be  the  epitome  of  a  new  Gos- 
pel which  will  read  :  "  And  the  Flesh  shall  be  made 
the  Word  ;  it  shall  become  the  Utterance  of  God." 

XXII. 

The  resurrection  is  brought  about  by  the  winds  of 
heaven  which  sweep  the  worlds.  The  Angel  borne  upon 
the  blast  saith  not:  "  Ye  Dead,  arise!"  he  saith, 
u  Arise,  ye  living  !  " 

Such  are  the  thoughts  to  which  I  have  been  able,  not 
without  great  difficulty,  to  give  expression  within  the 
limits  of  our  understanding.  There  were  other  thoughts 
which  Pauline  more  particularly  recollected  —  for  what 
reason  I  know  not.  These  I  have  also  transcribed  ; 
but,  remembering  the  intellect  from  which  they  eman- 
ated, the  mind  that  seeks  to  comprehend  them  is  led 
almost  to  despair.  I  shall,  however,  cite  a  few,  partly 
to  complete  my  sketch  of  this  being,  partly  because  in 
these,  his  last  ideas,  Lambert's  formula  takes  firmer 
hold  upon  the  worlds  than  the  first  here  given,  which 
seems  to  apply  only  to  the  zoologic  movement.  But 
between  the  two  fragments  there  is  evident  correlation 
to  the  eyes  of  those  persons,  few  indeed  !  who  care  to 
plunge  into  the  gulfs  of  intellect. 


10 


146 


Louis  Lambert, 


^  All  things  here  below  exist  only  by  Motion  and  by 
Number. 

II. 

Motion  is  in  one  sense  Number  in  action. 

nr. 

Motion  is  the  product  of  a  force  engendered  by  the 
Word  and  by  a  resistance  which  is  Matter.  Without 
resistance,  motion  would  have  been  resultless  ;  its  action 
would  have  been  infinite.  Newton's  attraction  of  gravi- 
tation is  not  a  law,  but  an  effect  of  the  general  law  of 
universal  Motion. 

IV. 

Motion,  by  reason  of  resistance,  produces  a  combina- 
tion which  is  life ;  so  soon  as  the  one  or  the  other  be- 
comes the  stronger,  life  ceases. 


Nowhere  is  motion  sterile ;  everywhere  it  engenders 
Number ;  but  it  may  be  neutralized  by  a  superior  re- 
sistance, as  in  minerals. 

VI. 

Number,  which  produces  all  varieties,  at  the  same 
time  generates  Harmony,  which,  in  its  highest  accepta- 
tion, is  the  relation  between  Parts  and  Unity. 


Louis  Lambert, 


147 


VII. 

Without  Motion  all  would  be  one  and  the  same  sub- 
stance. Its  products,  identical  in  their  essence,  are 
differentiated  only  by  the  Number  which  determines 
faculties. 

VIII. 

Man  is  related  to  faculties;  the  angel  is  related  to 
essence. 

IX. 

By  uniting  his  body  to  elementary  action,  man  ma}^ 
succeed  in  joining  himself  to  the  light  by  his  Interior. 

X. 

Number  is  an  intellectual  witness  which  belongs  only 
to  man,  and  by  which  he  may  arrive  at  the  knowledge 
of  the  Word. 

XI. 

There  is  a  number  which  Impurity  cannot  transcend  ; 
the  Number  wherein  creation  is  finished. 

XII. 

Unity  has  been  the  point  of  departure  for  everything 
which  has  been  produced ;  thence  have  resulted  Com- 
posites ;  but  the  end  must  be  identical  with  the  begin- 
ning. Hence  the  spiritual  formula  :  Composite  Unity, 
variable  Unity,  fixed  Unity. 


148 


Louis  Lambert. 


XIII. 

The  Universe  is,  then,  variety  in  Unity.  Motion  is 
the  means,  Number  is  the  result.  The  end  is  the  return 
of  all  things  to  Unity,  which  is  God. 

XIY. 

Three  and  Seven  are  the  two  great  spiritual 
numbers. 

XV. 

Three  is  the  formula  of  the  created  worlds.  It  is  the 
spiritual  symbol  of  creation,  as  it  is  the  material  sym- 
bol of  circumference.  In  effect,  God  proceeded  only  by 
circular  lines.  The  straight  line  is  an  attribute  of  In- 
finity;  therefore  man,  who  adumbrates  the  Infinite, 
employs  it  in  his  works.  Two  is  the  Number  of  gen- 
eration. Three  is  the  Number  of  existence,  which 
includes  generation  and  its  product.  Add  the  Quater- 
nary and  you  have  Seven,  which  is  the  formula  of 
heaven.    God  is  above  all ;  he  is  Unity. 


I  went  to  see  Lambert  once  again.  On  that  occasion, 
after  taking  leave  of  his  wife,  I  came  back  a  prey  to 
ideas  so  antagonistic  to  social  existence  that  I  re- 
nounced, in  spite  of  my  promises,  another  visit  to 
Villenoix.  The  sight  of  Louis  exercised  a  mysterious 
and  dangerous  influence  over  me.  I  feared  to  put  my- 
self again  in  that  intoxicating  atmosphere,  where  ecstasy 


Louis  Lambert. 


149 


was  contagious.  Eveiy  man  would  have  felt,  as  I  did, 
a  desire  to  plunge  into  the  infinite,  —  like  those  soldiers 
who  killed  themselves  in  a  sentry-box  where  one  of  their 
number  had  committed  suicide  while  the  regiment  was 
in  camp  at  Boulogne.  Napoleon  was  obliged  to  burn 
Xhat  box  of  wood,  a  depository,  as  it  were,  of  ideas 
which  had  reached  a  condition  of  deadly  miasma. 
Louis's  chamber  was  to  me  analogous  to  that  sentry- 
box.  These  two  facts  may  be  cited  as  additional  proofs 
in  support  of  his  theory  on  the  transmission  of  Will. 
In  his  presence  I  felt  extraordinary  emotions,  which 
surpassed  the  most  fantastic  effects  produced  by  tea, 
coffee,  opium,  sleep,  and  fever, — mysterious  agents 
whose  strange  power  so  often  affects  the  mind.  Per- 
haps I  might  have  made  a  complete  book  out  of  these 
fragments  of  thoughts,  which  will  ever  be  incomprehen- 
sible to  all  but  certain  minds  who  are  trained  to  bend 
over  the  brink  of  abysses  in  hopes  of  discovering  the 
bottom.  The  life  of  that  immense  brain,  which  gave 
way  doubtless  on  all  sides,  like  too  vast  an  empire, 
would,  it  is  true,  have  been  developed  in  a  recital  of 
the  visions  of  this  being,  so  incomplete  either  through 
excess  of  force  or  through  weakness  ;  but  I  have  pre- 
ferred to  render  a  faithful  account  of  my  impressions 
rather  than  compose  a  work  that  might  be  more  or  less 
poetic. 

Lambert  died  aged  twenty-eight,  on  the  25th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1824,  in  the  arms  of  his  beloved.  She  buried 
him  on  one  of  the  islands  of  the  park  of  Villenoix.  His 
grave  is  covered  b}r  a  simple  stone  cross,  without  name 


150 


Louis  Lambert. 


or  date.  Flower  born  on  the  borders  of  the  abyss,  he 
dropped  unknown,  with  all  his  mysterious  colors  and 
perfumes,  into  its  depths.  Like  many  other  uncompre- 
hended  persons,  he  had  often  proudly  longed  to  plunge 
into  the  void  and  abandon  there  the  secrets  of  his 
life.  Still,  Pauline  de  Villenoix  had  every  right  to  in- 
scribe that  cross  with  Lambert's  name,  together  with  an 
indication  of  her  own.  Since  the  loss  of  her  husband, 
reunion  is  the  hope  of  every  hour  of  her  life.  The  van- 
ities of  grief  are  foreign  to  a  soul  like  hers.  Villenoix 
is  falling  to  ruin.  Lambert's  wife  has  abandoned  it, 
doubtless  that  she  may  remember  it  better  as  it  was. 
Lately  she  was  heard  to  say :  — 

"  To  me,  his  heart  —  to  God,  his  genius.'' 


FACINO  CANE. 

PHILOSOPHICAL  STUDY. 


FACINO  CANE. 


TO  LOUISE. 

AS  A  MARK  OF  MY  AFFECTIONATE  GRATITUDE. 

I  was  then  living  in  a  little  street  which  you  probably 
do  not  know,  the  rue  cle  Lesdiguieres,  which  begins  at 
the  rue  Saint- Antoine  opposite  to  the  fountain  near  the 
place  de  la  Bastille,  and  opens  into  the  rue  de  la  Ceri- 
saie.  Love  of  science  had  driven  me  to  a  garret,  where 
I  worked  during  the  night,  passing  my  days  in  the 
library  of  Monsieur,  which  was  near  by.  I  lived  fru- 
gally, taking  upon  me  the  conditions  of  monastic  life, 
so  essential  to  workers.  I  seldom  walked  for  pleasure 
as  far  as  the  boulevard  Bourdon,  even  when  the  weather 
was  fine.  One  sole  passion  drew  me  away  from  my 
studious  habits ;  but  even  that  was  a  form  of  study. 
I  walked  the  streets  to  observe  the  manners  and  ways 
of  the  faubourg,  to  study  its  inhabitants  and  learn  their 
characters.  Ill-dressed  as  the  workmen  themselves,  and 
quite  as  indifferent  to  the  proprieties,  there  was  nothing 
about  me  to  put  them  on  their  guard.  I  mingled  in 
their  groups,  watched  their  bargains,  heard  their  dis- 
putes, at  the  hour  when  their  day's  work  ended.  The 
faculty  of  observation  had  become  intuitive  with  me  ;  I 


154 


Facino  Cane. 


could  enter  the  souls  of  others,  while  still  conscious  of 
their  bodies,  — or  rather,  I  grasped  external  details  so 
thoroughly  that  my  mind  instantly  passed  beyond  them  ; 
I  possessed,  in  short,  the  faculty  of  living  the  life  of  the 
individual  on  whom  I  exercised  my  observation,  and  of 
substituting  n^self  for  him,  like  the  dervish  in  the  Ara- 
bian Nights  who  assumed  the  body  and  soul  of  those 
over  whom  he  pronounced  certain  words. 

Often,  between  eleven  o'clock  and  midnight,  when  I 
met  some  workman  and  his  wife  returning  home  from 
the  Ambigu-Comique,  I  amused  myself  by  following 
them  from  the  boulevard  du  Pont-aux-Choux  to  the 
boulevard  Beaumarchais.  These  worthy  folks  usually 
talked  first  of  the  piece  they  had  just  seen ;  then,  from 
one  thing  to  another,  they  came  to  their  own  affairs  ; 
the  mother  dragged  her  child  along  by  the  hand  without 
paying  attention  to  his  complaints  or  inquiries  ;  hus- 
band and  wife  counted  up  their  gains ;  told  what  they 
expected  to  make  on  the  morrow,  and  spent  that  sum  in 
fancy  in  a  dozen  different  ways.  Then  they  dropped 
into  household  details,  groaned  over  the  excessive  cost 
of  potatoes,  or  the  coldness  of  the  winter,  the  increased 
price  of  fuel,  and  the  energetic  remonstrances  they  were 
forced  to  make  to  the  baker.  Their  discussions  often 
grew  heated,  and  each  side  betrayed  his  and  her  char- 
acter in  picturesque  language.  As  I  listened  to  these 
persons,  I  imbibed  their  life,  I  felt  their  ragged  clothing 
on  my  back,  my  feet  walked  in  their  broken  shoes ; 
their  desires,  their  wants,  passed  into  my  soul,  or  my 
soul  passed  into  theirs.    It  was  the  dream  of  a  waking 


Facino  Cane. 


155 


man.  I  grew  angry,  with  them,  against  some  foreman 
who  ill-used  them  ;  against  annoying  customers  who 
obliged  them  to  call  many  times  before  they  could  get 
their  money.  To  quit  my  own  life,  to  become  some 
other  individual  through  the  exaltation  of  a  moral  fac- 
ulty, and  to  play  this  game  at  will,  was  the  relaxation 
of  my  studious  hours. 

To  what  have  I  owed  this  gift?  Was  it  second- 
sight?  Is  it  one  of  those  qualities  the  abuse  of  which 
leads  to  insanity  ?  I  have  never  sought  to  discover  the 
causes  of  this  power.  I  only  know  that  I  possess  it, 
and  use  it ;  that  is  enough  for  me.  You  must  know  that 
ever  since  I  became  aware  of  this  faculty,  I  have  de- 
composed the  elements  of  those  heterogeneous  masses 
called  the  People,  and  I  have  analyzed 'them  in  a  man- 
ner that  enables  me  to  appraise  both  their  good  and  evil 
qualities.  I  knew,  before  the  time  came  to  prove  it, 
what  use  "  the  faubourg  "  would  be  put  to,  —  that  sem- 
inary of  revolution  from  which  have  emerged  heroes, 
inventors,  practically  learned  men,  knaves,  scoundrels, 
virtues,  vices  ;  all  repressed  by  poverty,  stifled  by  want, 
drowned  in  wine,  worn-out  by  the  use  of  strong  liquors. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  many  lost  epics,  how  many 
forgotten  dramas  there  are  in  this  city  of  sorrows ! 
how  many  horrible  things,  how  many  glorious  things  ! 
Imagination  cannot  reach  to  a  full  conception  of  what 
is  hidden  here,  in  quest  of  which  no  man  can  go ;  he 
would  be  forced  to  descend  too  low  to  find  these  start- 
ling scenes  of  tragedy  or  of  comedy,  masterpieces  to 
which,  often,  mere  accident  gives  birth.   I  hardly  know 


156 


Facino  Cane. 


why  I  have  so  long  refrained  from  telling  3-011  the  fol- 
lowing story ;  it  is  one  of  the  many  curious  tales  put 
away  in  a  bag  from  which  memory  pulls  them  forth  ca- 
priciously, like  numbers  in  a  lottery.  I  have  others 
quite  as  singular  buried  in  my  mind,  but,  you  may  de- 
pend upon  it,  they  shall  see  the  light  some  day. 

One  morning  my  charwoman,  the  wife  of  a  laboring 
man,  asked  me  to  honor  the  wedding  of  her  sister  with 
my  presence.  To  make  you  understand  the  sort  of 
wedding  it  was  likely  to  be,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  paid 
forty  sous  a  month  to  this  poor  creature,  who  came 
every  morning  to  make  my  bed,  clean  nry  shoes,  brush 
my  clothes,  sweep  the  room,  and  prepare  m}r  breakfast ; 
the  rest  of  her  time  was  spent  in  turning  the  crank  of  an 
engine,  —  a  form  of  hard  labor  which  brought  her  in  ten 
sous  a  day.  Her  husband,  a  cabinet-maker,  earned  four 
francs  ;  but  as  these  parents  had  three  children,  their 
wages  were  barely  enough  for  a  decent  living.  I  have 
never  seen  more  solid  honesty  than  that  of  this  man  and 
woman.  For  five  years  after  I  left  the  neighborhood, 
mere  Vaillant  always  came  to  wish  me  happy  returns  on 
my  birthday,  bringing  with  her  a  bunch  of  flowers  and 
some  oranges, — poor  soul,  who  never  In  her  life  could 
lay  by  ten  sous.  Poverty  brought  us  near  together.  I 
was  never  able  to  give  her  more  than  ten  francs,  often 
borrowed  for  the  occasion.  This  may  explain  my  prom- 
ise to  go  to  the  wedding ;  I  expected  to  revel  in  the 
happiness  of  these  poor  creatures. 

The  feast  and  the.  ball  took  place  at  the  house  of  a 
wiae-merchant  in  the  rue  de  Charenton,  in  a  large  room, 


Facino  Gya?ie.* 


157 


lighted  by  lamps  with  tin  reflectors  and  hung  with  a 
paper  that  was  greasy  behind  the  wooden  seats  which 
ran  round  the  walls.  In  this  room  were  assembled 
eighty  persons  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  bedizened  with 
ribbons  and  nosegays,  dancing  with  flushed  faces  as  if 
the  world  were  coming  to  an  end.  The  bride  and  bride- 
groom kissed  each  other  to  the  general  satisfaction, 
with  a  chorus  of  "  He}^,  hey's,"  and  "  Ha,  ha's,"  which 
were  significant  but  really  less  indecent  than  the  timid 
glances  of  well-educated  young  girls.  The  whole  com- 
pany gave  evidence  of  a  coarse  enjoyment  which  had 
something  contagious  in  it. 

However,  neither  the  characteristics  of  this  assembly, 
nor  the  wedding,  nor  anything  concerning  it,  has  to  do 
with  my  story.  Eemember  only  the  oddness  of  the 
setting ;  see  the  shabby  room,  painted  red,  smell  the 
fumes  of  wine,  hear  the  roars  of  delight,  imagine  your- 
self in  the  faubourg,  among  these  workmen,  these  old 
men,  these  poor  women,  giving  themselves  up  to  enjoy- 
ment for  one  night. 

The  orchestra  consisted  of  three  blind  men  from  the 
Quinze-Vingts  ; 1  the  first  a  violin,  the  second  a  clar- 
ionet, the  third  a  flute.  The  three  were  paid,  in  a 
lump,  seven  francs  for  the  evening.  At  that  price  they 
were  not  likely  to  give  Rossini  nor  Beethoven  ;  they 
played  what  they  would  and  as  they  could  ;  and  no  one 
found  fault  with  them,  out  of  delicacy.   Their  music  as- 

1  The  Quinze-Vingts  is  a  hospital  in  Paris,  founded  by  Louis 
IX.  (Saint-Louis)  for  three  hundred  knights  whose  eyes  were  put 
out  by  the  Saracens. 


158 


•Facino  Cane. 


saulted  my  tympanum  so  violently  that  after  one  glance 
at  the  assembled  company  I  looked  at  the  blind  trio  and 
was  instantly  moved  to  forgiveness  when  I  saw  their 
uniform.  The  musicians  were  seated  in  the  recess  of  a 
window,  and  it  was  necessaiy  to  stand  quite  near  them 
to  distinguish  their  faces ;  I  did  not  go  up  to  them  at 
once,  but  when  I  did  so  the  wedding  and  the  music  be- 
came as  nought,  my  curiosity  was  excited  to  the  highest 
pitch,  for  my  soul  passed  into  the  body  of  the  player  of 
the  clarionet.  The  violin  and  the  flute  both  had  com- 
mon faces,  the  well-known  face  of  the  blind,  full  of  a 
contentious  spirit,  attentive  and  serious  ;  but  that  of  the 
clarionet  presented  one  of  those  phenomena  which  in- 
stantly arrest  the  attention  of  artists  and  philosophers. 

Imagine  to  yourself  a  plaster  mask  of  Dante  lighted 
by  the  ruddy  glare  of  an  oil  lamp,  and  surmounted  by  a 
forest  of  silvery-white  hair.  The  bitter  and  distressful 
expression  of  that  magnificent  head  was  increased  by  the 
man's  blindness,  for  the  dead  eyes  lived  anew  through 
thought ;  burning  gleams  were  emitted  from  the  sight- 
less balls,  produced  by  one  incessant,  solitary  desire, 
vigorously  stamped  on  that  projecting  brow,  which  was 
furrowed  by  wrinkles  like  the  courses  of  a  stone  wall. 
The  old  man  blew  his  instrument  as  he  pleased,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  time  or  tune  ;  his  fingers  went  up 
or  clown,  pressing  the  old  stops  by  a  mere  mechani- 
cal habit ;  he  took  no  pains  to  avoid  couacs  (to  use  an 
orchestral  term  for  the  quacking  of  false  notes) ,  but  the 
dancers  paid  no  attention  to  them,  neither  did  the  two 
acolytes  of  my  Italian,  —  for  I  felt  sure  he  was  an  Ital- 


Facino  Cane. 


159 


ian,  and  so  he  proved.  There  was  something  grand  and 
despotic  in  this  old  Homer  who  bore  a  forgotten  or  un- 
known Odyssey  within  him  ;  a  grandeur  so  real  that  it 
still  triumphed  even  in  its  overthrow  ;  a  despotism  so 
undying  that  it  mastered  poverty.  None  of  the  violent 
passions  which  lead  men  to  good  as  well  as  to  evil, 
making  one  a  hero  and  another  a  galley-slave,  were 
lacking  in  that  face  so  nobly  modelled,  so  lividly  Ital- 
ian ;  shaded  by  gray  eyebrows  which  threw  their  shadow 
over  those  blind  cavities,  where  the  apparition  of  the 
light  of  thought  made  the  spectator  shudder,  as  one  who 
sees  a  band  of  brigands  armed  with  daggers  issuing 
from  a  cavern's  mouth.  There  was  a  lion  in  that  cage 
of  flesh,  a  lion  who  spent  his  useless  rage  against  the 
iron  bars  of  his  prison.  The  conflagration  of  despair 
had  died_to  ashes,  the  lava  had  stiffened  and  was  cold ; 
but  furrows,  convulsions,  a  little  smoke  bore  witness  to 
the  violence  of  the  eruption  and  the  ravages  of  the 
flames.  These  ideas,  suggested  by  the  sight  of  that 
man,  were  as  hot  in  his  soul  as  they  were  cold  and  dead 
upon  his  face. 

Between  each  quadrille  the  violin  and  the  flute,  sol- 
emnly concerned  for  glass  and  bottle,  hung  their  instru- 
ments to  a  button  of  each  shabby  coat  and  moved  their 
hands  cautiously  to  a  little  table  on  which  their  refresh- 
ments stood  ;  always  offering  a  full  glass  to  the  Italian, 
who  was  unable  to  reach  it  for  himself,  the  table  being; 
placed  behind  his  chair.  Each  time  that  his  compan- 
ions paid  him  this  attention  the  clarionet  thanked  them 
with  a  friendly  nod.    Their  movements  were  all  per- 


160 


Facino  Cane. 


formed  with  the  precision  which  is  so  noticeable  among 
the  pensioners  of  the  Quinze-Vingts,  and  leads  one  al- 
most to  imagine  that  those  blind  men  see.  I  ap- 
proached the  musicians  to  hear  them  talk,  but  when  I 
was  near  them  they  evidently  studied  me  and  seemed 
aware  that  I  was  not  a  working-man ;  they  grew  re- 
served at  once. 

"What  countryman  are  you, — you  who  play  the 
clarionet?  "  I  said. 

"  I  come  from  Venice,"  answered  the  blind  man  with 
a  slight  Italian  accent. 

"  Were  you  born  blind  or  did  you  become  so?  " 

"  I  became  so,"  he  answered,  quickly,  "  a  cursed  pa- 
ralysis of  the  retina." 

"  Venice  is  a  beautiful  city  ;  I  have  always  longed  to 
go  there." 

The  old  man's  face  lighted  up,  his  wrinkles  quivered, 
and  he  showed  signs  of  strong  emotion. 

"If  I  went  with  you  you  would  not  lose  your  time," 
he  said,  significantly. 

"  Don't  talk  to  him  of  Venice,"  said  the  violin.  "  If 
you  do;  the  doge  will  be  unmanageable  ;  and  he  has  got 
two  bottles  already  under  his  waistcoat,  the  prince !  " 

"  Come,  play  away,  pere  Canet !  "  cried  the  flute. 

All  three  began  to  play ;  but  all  the  time  they  were 
executing  four  quadrilles  the  Venetian  seemed  to  be 
scenting  me,  as  though  he  guessed  the  sudden  and  ex- 
treme interest  I  felt  in  him.  His  countenance  lost  its 
chilling  aspect  of  distress  ;  something  like  hope  enliv- 
ened his  features  and  slid  like  a  blue  flame  amonof  their 


Facino  Cane. 


161 


wrinkles  ;  he  smiled  and  wiped  his  brow,  that  bold  and 
awful  brow,  and  even  assumed  the  gayety  of  a  man 
who  mounts  a  hobby. 

"  How  old  are  you?"  I  asked  him. 

"Eighty-two." 

"  When  did  you  become  blind?  " 

"Nearly  fifty  years  ago,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  that 
showed  me  his  grief  was  not  caused  by  the  loss  of  sight 
only,  but  by  the  loss  of  some  great  power  of  which  he 
had  been  robbed. 

"  Why  do  they  call  you  doge?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh  !  that  is  a  joke,"  he  replied.  "lama  patrician 
of  Venice,  and  plight  have  been  a  doge  like  any  other." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Here,"  he  said,  "they  call  me  pere  Canet.  My 
name  is  alwa}Ts  written  thus  on  the  registers;  but  in 
Italy  I  am  Marco  Facino  Cane,  Principe  di  Varese." 

"  What !  }^ou  are  descended  from  the  famous  captain, 
Facino  Cane,  whose  conquests  passed  to  the  Duke  of 
Milan?" 

"Evero"  he  replied.  "At  that  time  Cane's  son 
took  refuge  in  Venice  to  escape  being  killed  by  the 
Visconti,  and  had  himself  inscribed  on  the  Libro  d'oro. 
But  now  neither  Cane  nor  Golden  Book  remain  of  all 
that  past ! "  and  he  made  a  dreadful  gesture  of  extinct 
patriotism  and  of  hatred  for  all  things  human. 

"  But  if  you  were  senator  of  Venice  you  ought  to  be 
rich  ;  how  is  it  }Tou  have  lost  your  wealth  ?  " 

At  this  question  he  raised  his  head,  with  a  tragic 
movement,  as  if  to  gaze  fixedly  at  me,  and  replied,  — 

11 


162 


Facino  Cane. 


"  Through  misfortune." 

He  no  longer  thought  of  drinking,  and  refused  with 
his  hand  a  glass  which  the  old  flute  was  offering  him  at 
this  moment;  then  he  bowed  his  head. 

These  details  were  not  of  a  nature  to  extinguish  my 
curiosity.     During  the  quadrille  which  the  three  ma- 
chines now  played,  I  gazed  at  the  old  Venetian  noble 
with  the  excited  feelings  natural  to  a  young  man  of 
twenty.    I  saw  Venice  and  the  Adriatic ;  I  beheld  the 
ruined  city  in  that  ruined  face  ;  I  floated  amid  those 
palaces  so  dear  to  their  inhabitants  ;  I  passed  from  the 
Eialto  to  the  Salute,  from  the  riva  degli  Schiavoni  to 
the  Lido ;  then  back  to  the  marvellous  San  Marco,  so 
original  and  so  sublime ;  I  looked  at  the  windows  of 
the  Casa  d'Oro,  each  with  its  different  tracery ;  I  con- 
templated, as  I  glided  past,  those  old  palazzi  so  rich  in 
marbles,  and  all  those  many  wonders  with  which  the 
scholar  sympathizes,  the  more  because  he  colors  them 
with  knowledge,  and  is  conscious  that  their  present  re- 
ality is  powerless  to  depoetize  his  dream.    In  fancy  I 
reviewed  the  life  of  this  descendant  of  the  famous  con- 
dottiere;  I  looked  for  traces  of  his  misfortunes  and  for 
the  causes  of  the  physical  and  moral  degradation  which 
rendered  his  sudden  gleam  of  greatness  and  revived 
nobility  more  striking  still.     Our  thoughts  were  no 
doubt  in  common,  his  and  mine;  for  I  believe  that 
blindness  renders  mental  communication  far  more  rapid 
by  preventing  the  attention  from  frittering  itself  away 
on  outside  objects.     The  proof  of  our  sympathetic 
thought  was  not  long  in  coming.    Facino  Cane  ceased 


Facino  Cane. 


163 


playing,  rose,  came  up  to  me  and  said,  "Let  us  go!" 
in  a  tone  and  manner  which  struck  me  like  an  electric 
shock.    I  gave  him  m}T  arm,  and  we  went  out. 

When  we  reached  the  street  he  said  :  ' '  Take  me  to 
Venice  !  will  you  take  me  there  ?  will  3-011  have  faith  in 
me?  If  you  will,  you  shall  be  richer  than  the  ten  rich- 
est merchants  in  Amsterdam  or  London  ;  richer  than 
the  Rothschilds  ;  rich  with  all  the  riches  of  the  Arabian 
Nights. 

I  thought  him  mad  ;  but  there  was  a  power  in  his 
voice  that  compelled  my  obedience.  I  allowed  hirn  to 
guide  me,  and  he  proceeded  toward  the  fosses  of  Belle- 
ville as  if  he  had  eyes  to  see.  He  seated  himself  on  a 
stone  in  a  very  solitar}^  spot  where  the  bridge  by  which 
the  canal  Saint-Martin  now  communicates  with  the 
Seine  was  subsequently  built.  I  sat  upon  another  stone 
directly  facing  the  old  man,  whose  white  hairs  glittered 
like  silver  threads  in  the  effulgence  of  the  moon.  The 
silence  about  us,  scarcely  broken  by  the  rumbling  noises 
of  the  distant  boulevard,  the  clearness  of  the  night,  all 
contributed  to  the  weird  aspect  of  the  scene. 

u  You  talk  of  millions  to  a  young  man,"  I  said,  "  and 
you  think  he  would  hesitate  to  face  a  thousand  evils  to 
obtain  them  !    Are  you  not  jesting  with  me?" 

"  May  I  die  without  confession,"  he  said  vehemently, 
"if  what  I  tell  you  is  not  true.  I  was  twenty  years 
old,  as  you  are  now ;  I  was  rich,  I  was  handsome,  I 
was  noble.  I  began  with  the  first  madness,  love.  I 
loved  as  men  do  not  love  in  these  days,  —  enough  to 
hide  in  a  coffer  and  risk  a  poignard  without  receiving 


164 


Facino  Cane. 


anything  more  than  the  promise  of  a  kiss.  To  die  for 
her  seemed  to  me  to  live  a  lifetime.  In  1760  I  loved  a 
Yendramini,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  married  to  a  Sagredo, 
one  of  the  richest  senators,  a  man  of  thirty,  frantically 
in  love  with  his  wife.  M}T  mistress  and  I  were  as  in- 
nocent as  two  cherubim  when  the  sjioso  surprised  us 
talking  of  love  ;  I  was  unarmed,  his  sword  missed  me  ; 
I  sprang  at  his  throat  and  strangled  him  with  both 
hands  as  you  wring  the  neck  of  a  chicken.  I  wanted 
to  fly  with  Bianca,  but  she  would  not  go  with  me. 
Such  are  women !  I  went  alone  ;  I  was  condemned ; 
my  property  confiscated  to  my  heirs  ;  but  I  carried  off 
my  diamonds,  five  Titians  rolled  up,  and  all  my  gold. 
I  went  to  Milan,  wmere  I  was  not  molested  ;  my  affair 
wras  of  no  interest'  to  the  State. 

"Allow  me  a  little  remark  before  continuing  my 
story,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "Whether  a  woman's 
fancies  affect  the  child  she  conceives  and  bears  I  know 
not,  but  it  is  certain  that  my  mother  had  a  passion  for 
gold  during  her  pregnancy.  I  have  a  monomania  for 
it,  the  gratification  of  which  is  so  essential  to  my  life 
that  all  through  nry  vicissitudes  I  am  never  without 
gold  in  my  possession ;  I  handle  it,  finger  it,  inces- 
santly ;  when  I  was  young  I  wore  jewelry,  and  I  always 
carried  two  or  three  hundred  ducats  about  me." 

So  saying,  he  drew  two  ducats  from  his  pocket  and 
showed  them  to  me. 

"I  feel  the  presence  of  gold.  Though  blind,  I  can 
always  stop  before  a  jewreller's  window.  That  passion 
was  nry  ruin  ;  I  became  a  gambler  for  the  sake  of  gold. 


Facino  Cane. 


165 


I  was  not  a  swindler,  but  I  was  swindled,  and  was 
ruined.    When  I  had  no  longer  any  money  I  was  seized 
with  a  desperate  desire  to  see  Bianca.    I  returned  se- 
cretly to  Venice  ;  I  found  her.    I  was  happy  for  six 
months,  hidden  in  her  house  and  fed  by  her.    I  thought 
with  delight  that  I  should  end  my  days  in  that  wa}\ 
But  Bianca  was  sought  in  marriage  by  the  Proveditore. 
He  suspected  a  rival  (in  Italy  they  scent  rivals)  ;  he 
watched  us,  and  surprised  us,  the  scoundrel !  Fanc}r 
what  a  struggle  it  was  !    But  I  did  not  kill  him  ;  I  only 
wounded  him  severel}'.    That  affair  destroyed  my  hap- 
piness.   From  that  day  forth  I  never  found  a  second 
Bianca.    I  have  enjoyed  great  pleasures  ;  I  lived  at  the 
court  of  Louis  XV.  among  the  most  celebrated  women  ; 
but  nowhere  have  I  found  the  noble  qualities,  the  grace, 
the  love  of  my  dear  Venetian  lady.    The  Proveditore 
had  his  people  within  call ;  the  palace  was  surrounded, 
invaded.    I  defended  myself,  that  I  might  die  before 
Bianca' s  eyes.    Formerly  she  wrould  not  fly  with  me  ; 
now,  after  six  months'  happiness,  she  desired  to  die 
my  death,  and  received  several  wounds.    A  huge  man- 
tle was  thrown  over  me,  and  I  wras  rolled  in  it,  carried 
to  a  gondola,  and  thrown  into  a  dungeon  in  the  vaults 
of  the  ducal  palace.    I  was  twent}M;wo  }Tears  old,  and 
I  held  the  hilt  of  my  broken  sword  so  firmly  that  to  get 
it  from  me  they  w7ould  have  had  to  cut  off  my  wrist. 
B}^  remarkable  luck,  —  or  rather,  inspired  by  a  sense 
of  precaution,  I  hid  that  bit  of  iron  in  a  corner  of  the 
vault,  thinking  it  -might  some  day  help  me.    I  was 
nursed  and  cared  for.    My  wTouncls  were  not  mortal. 


166 


Facino  Cane. 


At  twenty-two  we  can  live  through  everything.  Doubt- 
less I  was  to  die  decapitated.  I  pretended  continued 
illness  to  gain  time.  I  felt  sure  I  was  in  a  dungeon 
adjoining  the  canal.  My  plan  was  to  escape  by  tun- 
nelling the  wall  and  swimming  across  the  canal,  at 
the  risk  of  being  drowned.  Here  is  the  reasoning 
on  which  I  rested  my  hopes :  each  time  the  jailer 
opened  the  door  to  bring  my  food  I  read  the  indica- 
tions written  on  the  walls,  such  as,  4  Palace  side,' 
'  Canal  side,'  4  Subterranean  side,'  and  I  came  at  last 
to  conceive  a  plan  of  escape  connected  with  the  exist- 
ing state  of  the  Ducal  palace,  which  has  never  been 
finished.  With  the  genius  that  the  hope  of  freedom  in- 
spires, and  by  feeling  with  my  fingers  along  the  face  of 
a  stone,  I  contrived  to  decipher  an  Arabic  inscription 
by  which  the  inscriber  informed  his  successors  that  he 
had  loosened  two  stones  in  the  lower  course  and  had 
tunnelled  eleven  feet  under  ground.  To  continue  his 
work  it  was  necessary  to  spread  the  fragments  of  stone 
and  mortar  over  the  floor  of  the  dungeon  itself.  Even 
if  the  jailers  or  the  inquisitors  had  not  been,  as  they 
were,  so  satisfied  with  the  construction  of  the  massive 
building  that  no  watch  was  kept  on  the  interior,  it 
would  always  have  been  easy  to  raise  the  level  of  the 
soil  gradually  because  of  the  position  of  the  cells,  which 
were  at  the  bottom  of  a  flight  of  steps.  This  immense 
toil  had  all  been  wasted,  at  least  for  the  man  who  had 
undertaken  it,  for  its  unfinished  condition  wras  a  proof 
of  his  death.  His  devoted  labor  would  be  lost  forever 
unless  some  succeeding  prisoner  should  have  a  knowl- 


Facino  Cane, 


167 


edge  of  Arabic.  Fortunately,  I  had  studied  the  orien- 
tal languages  in  the  Armenian  convent.  A  sentence 
inscribed  on  the  back  of  the  stone  told  the  fate  of  the 
unfortunate  man,  who  died  a  victim  to  his  enormous 
wealth,  which  Venetian  greed  had  coveted  and  seized. 

66  It  took  me  a  month,"  continued  the  old  man,  who 
had  paused  to  consider  his  words,  "before  I  came  to 
any  result.  While  I  worked,  and  during  the  moments 
when  overcome  by  fatigue  I  rested,  I  could  hear  the 
sound  of  gold,  I  saw  gold  glittering  before  me,  I  was 
dazzled  by  the  light  of  diamonds.  Wait,  wait !  I  have 
more  to  tell.  One  night  my  blunted  steel  struck  wood. 
I  sharpened  that  fragment  of  a  sword  and  cut  a  hole 
in  the  wood.  To  do  this  work  I  wriggled  like  a  snake 
on  my  belly ;  I  even  went  naked  to  work,  as  the  moles 
do,  with  my  hands  in  front  of  me,  propelling  my  body  by 
the  stones.  The  night  but  one  before  I  was  to  be  taken 
up  for  judgment  I  resolved  on  a  final  effort.  My  broken 
blade  made  a  hole  in  the  wood  and  touched  nothing 
beyond  it.  Imagine  my  astonishment  at  what  I  saw 
when  I  applied  an  eye  to  the  hole.  I  found  myself  at 
the  roof  of  a  vault  where  the  feeble  glimmer  of  a  light 
showed  me  heaps  of  gold.  The  doge  and  one  of  the 
Ten  were  in  this  vault ;  I  heard  their  voices,  and  what 
they  said  informed  me  that  here  was  the  secret  treasure 
of  the  republic,  the  offerings  of  the  doges,  the  reserva- 
tion of  spoils,  called  the  '  perquisite  of  Venice/  which 
was  levied  on  the  proceeds  of  the  expeditions.  I  was 
saved!  When  the  jailer  came  I  proposed  to  him  to 
assist  my  escape  and  to  fly  with  me,  carrying  all  that 


168 


Facino  Cane. 


we  could  possibly  take  with  us.  He  agreed  ;  he  did  not 
even  hesitate.  A  vessel  was  just  sailing  for  the  Levant ; 
all  precautions  were  taken.  Bianca,  to  whom  in}'  ac- 
complice went,  approved  my  plans.  Not  to  excite 
suspicion,  she  was  to  follow  and  rejoin  me  in  Smyrna. 
The  next  night  we  enlarged  the  hole  and  climbed  down 
upon  the  treasure." 

44  What  a  night !  what  a  night !  "  cried  the  old  man, 
quivering  at  the  recollection.  44  I  saw  four  huge  tuns 
overflowing  with  gold.  In  the  adjoining  vault  silver 
was  amassed  in  two  great  heaps,  leaving  a  path  be- 
tween them  to  cross  the  room,  which  they  filled  to  the 
height  of  six  feet.  I  thought  the  gaoler  would  have 
gone  mad  ;  he  sang,  he  danced,  he  laughed,  he  jumped 
upon  the  gold.  I  threatened  to  strangle  him  if  he 
wasted  time,  or  continued  to  make  a  noise.  In  his 
delirium  he  did  not  see  a  table  on  which  the  precious 
stones  were  piled.  I  sprang  to  them  and  filled  my 
sailor  jacket  and  the  pockets  of  my  trousers.  Good 
God  !  I  could  not  take  a  third  of  the  dazzling  heap. 
Under  that  table  were  bars  of  gold.  I  persuaded  my 
companion  to  fill  as  many  sacks  with  gold  as  we  were 
able  to  carry  ;  pointing  out  to  him  that  gold  could  not 
lead  to  our  discovery  in  a  foreign  land  ;  4  whereas,'  I 
said,  4  jewels  and  precious  stones  would  certainly 
be  recognized.'  But  however  great  our  longing,  we 
could  take  only  two  thousand  pounds  of  gold,  and  even 
the}'  necessitated  six  trips  across  the  prison  to  the 
gondola.  The  sentinel  at  the  water-gate  was  in  our 
pay,  bought  by  ten  pounds  of  gold.    As  for  the  gon- 


Facino  Cane. 


169 


doliers,  they  thought  they  were  employed  for  the  Re- 
public. At  break  of  day  we  started.  When  fairly  at 
sea  and  I  could  think  of  what  had  happened,  — when  I 
recalled  my  sensations  and  saw  again  in  my  mind's  eye 
that  vast  treasury  where,  according  to  my  valuation,  I 
had  been  forced  to  leave  behind  me  thirty  millions  of 
silver,  twenty  millions  of  gold,  and  many  millions  in 
diamonds,  pearls,  and  rubies,  —  I  became,  as  it  were, 
insane.    The  lever  of  gold  was  upon  me. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  we 
landed  at  Smyrna,  and  immediately  re-embarked  for 
France.  As  we  boarded  the  French  vessel  God  was  so 
good  as  to  relieve  me  of  my  accomplice.  At  the  mo- 
ment, I  did  not  reflect  on  the  consequences  of  this  acci- 
dent, in  which  I  then  rejoiced  heartily.  We  were  so 
completely  enervated  with  toil  and  emotion  that  we  sat 
partly  stupefied,  without  a  word  to  each  other,  waiting 
for  perfect  safet}T  before  we  dared  to  enjoy  our  good 
fortune  at  our  ease.  It  is  not  surprising  that  the  fel- 
low's head  turned  giddy —  You  will  see  how  God 
punished  me.  I  thought  I  was  safe  and  happy  after 
selling  two-thirds  of  my  diamonds  in  London  and  Ams- 
terdam, and  putting  my  gold  into  commercial  property. 
I  lived  hidden  in  Madrid  for  five  years  ;  then,  in  1770, 
I  came  to  Paris  under  a  Spanish  name,  and  led  a  bril- 
liant life.  Bianca  was  dead.  In  the  midst  of  my 
pleasures,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  millions,  I  was 
struck  blind.  No  doubt  this  affliction  was  originally 
caused  by  living  in  a  dungeon  and  working  through  the 
stone  wall,  —  unless  indeed  my  faculty  for  seeing  gold 


170 


Facino  Cane. 


entailed  an  abuse  of  visual  power  which  predestined  me 
to  lose  my  sight.  At  this  particular  time  I  was  in  love 
with  a  woman  whom  I  thought  of  marrying.  I  had  told 
her  the  'secret  of  my  name  :  she  herself  belonged  to  a 
powerful  family,  and  I  hoped  much  from  the  favor 
shown  to  me  by  Louis  XV.  I  placed  great  confidence 
in  this  woman,  who  was  a  friend  of  Madame  du  Barry  ; 
she  advised  me  to  consult  an  oculist  in  London.  After 
a  stay  of  some  months  in  that  city,  she  one  day  aban- 
doned me  in  Hyde  Park,  robbing  me  of  all  my  prop- 
erty and  leaving  me  helpless  :  for,  compelled  as  I  was 
to  hide  my  name  in  dread  of  Venetian  vengeance.  I 
could  ask  succor  from  no  one.  I  feared  Venice.  My 
infirmity  was  worked  upon  to  my  ruin  by  spies  whom 
that  woman  placed  about  me.  I  will  spare  you  a  series 
of  adventures  worthy  of  Gil  Bias.  Your  Revolution 
took  place.  I  was  forced  to  enter  the  Quinze-Vingts, 
where  the  woman  placed  me  after  keeping  me  two  years 
in  a  mad-house,  declaring  that  I  was  insane.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  kill  her.  for  I  could  not  see  her.  and 
I  was  too  poor  to  buy  another  man's  arm.  If,  before 
losing  Benedetto  Carpi,  the  jailer.  I  had  inquired  from 
him  the  exact  position  of  my  dungeon.  I  might  have 
gone  to  Venice  when  the  Eepublic  was  abolished  by 
Xapoleon  and  rediscovered  the  treasure  vault  —  But 
now,  hear  me  !  in  spite  of  my  blindness,  let  us  go  to 
Venice  !  I  can  find  the  door  of  my  dungeon  ;  I  can  see 
gold  through  the  thickest  wall ;  I  can  feel  it  in  the 
water  under  which  it  is  sunk  !  The  events  which  have 
overthrown  the  power  of  Venice  are  such  that  the  secret 


Facino  Cane. 


171 


of  this  treasure  must  have  died  with  Vendramino,  Bi- 
anca's  brother,  a  doge  who,  I  always  hoped,  would 
have  made  my  peace  with  the  Ten.  I  wrote  letters  to 
the  First  Consul,  I  proposed  a  bargain  to  the  Emperor 
of  Austria,  —  they  both  treated  me  as  a  lunatic.  Come  ! 
let  us  go  to  Venice  !  We  shall  start  beggars  and  come 
back  with  millions ;  I  will  recover  my  estates,  and  you 
shall  be  my  heir ;  you  shall  be  Principe  di  Varese  !  " 

Bewildered  by  this  tale,  which  had  all  the  magnitude 
of  a  poem  to  my  imagination,  and  by  the  aspect  of 
that  white  head  against  the  black  waters  that  surrounded 
the  Bastille, — still  waters  like  those  of  the  canals  of 
Venice,  —  I  could  not  answer.  Facino  Cane  thought, 
no  doubt,  that  I  judged  him,  as  others  did,  with  con- 
temptuous pity ;  he  made  a  gesture  eloquent  with  the 
whole  philosophy  of  despair.  His  narrative  had  re- 
called to  his  mind  the  happy  days  of  Venice  ;  he  seized 
his  clarionet  and  sadly  played  a  Venetian  air,  a  barca- 
role which  revived  his  early  gift,  the  musical  gift  of  a 
patrician  in  love.  It  was,  as  it  were,  the  Super  flumina 
Babylonis.  Tears  filled  my  eyes.  If  some  belated 
pedestrian  had  passed  along  the  boulevard  Bourdon  he 
would  have  stopped  to  listen  to  this  exile's  prayer,  this 
last  regret  for  a  lost  name,  with  which  was  mingled  the 
memory  of  Bianca.  But  gold  recovered  its  ascend- 
ency ;  the  fatal  passion  stamped  out  the  gleam  of  youth 
and  love. 

"  I  see  that  treasure  everywhere, "  he  cried,  "  at  all 
times,  waking  or  asleep  ;  I  walk  in  the  midst  of  it ;  the 
diamonds  sparkle.    I  am  not  so  blind  as  you  fancy  ; 


172 


Facino  Cane. 


gold  and  diamonds  illumine  my  night,  — the  night  of 
the  last  Facino  Cane,  for  my  title  passes  to  the  Memmj. 
My  God  !  the  murderer's  punishment  began  too  soon  ! 
Ave  Maria  —  " 

He  recited  a  few  prayers  which  I  could  not  hear. 

ct  We  will  go  to  Venice/'  I  said,  as  he  rose. 

"  1  have  found  my  helper  at  last !  "  he  cried,  his  face 
flaming.  I  led  him  back  on  my  arm  ;  he  pressed  my 
hand  at  the  gates  of  the  Quinze-Vingts  as  some  of  the 
wedding-party  passed  noisily  by  us. 

"  Shall  we  start  to-morrow?  "  he  said. 

44  As  soon  as  we  get  money  enough." 

"  BlTt  we  can  go  on  foot ;  we  will  beg  our  way,  —  I 
am  robust,  and  gold,  the  sight  of  gold  before  me  makes 
me  young." 

Facino  Cane  died  during  that  winter  after  a  lingering 
illness  of  two  months.  The  poor  old  man  had  taken 
cold. 


GAMBARA. 

PHILOSOPHICAL  STUDIES. 


G  A  M  B  A  K  A. 


The  first  day  of  the  year  1831  was  drawing  to  a 
close ;  four  o'clock  was  striking ;  crowds  were  in  the 
Palais-Royal,  and  the  restaurants  were  beginning  to 
fill  up.    Just-  then  a  coupe  stopped  before  the  en- 
trance, and  a  young  man  of  distinguished  bearing  got 
out  of  it,  —  a  foreigner,  of  course,  or  he  would  not 
have  been  attended  by  a  chasseur  with  aristocratic 
plumes,  nor  would  his  panels  have  shown  the  quarter- 
ings  which  the  heroes  of  July  were  still  seeking.  The 
stranger  entered  the  Palais-Royal  and  followed  the 
crowd  under  the  arcades  without  seeming  surprised  at 
the  slow  progression  to  which  the  sauntering  mass  of 
people  condemned  him  ;  he  seemed  to  the  manner  born 
of  the  noble  gait  called  ironically  the  "ambassador's 
pace,"  yet  his  air  of  dignity  had  something  theatrical 
about  it.    Although  his  face  was  grave  and  handsome, 
his  hat,  beneath  which  a  curling  mass  of  black  hair  ap- 
peared, tipped  a  little  too  much  to  the  right  ear,  bely- 
ing his  gravity  by  a  slightly  rakish  air.    His  careless 
half-closed  eyes  let  fall  occasional  contemptuous  glances 
among  the  crowd. 


176 


Gambara. 


"  There  's  a  handsome  young  man,"  said  one  grisette 
to  another,  as  the}'  drew  aside  to  let  him  pass. 

44  And  he  knows  it  well,"  said  her  companion,  who 
was  ugly,  aloud. 

Having  made  one  turn  round  the  arcades,  the  young 
man  looked  alternately  at  his  watch  and  at  the  sky, 
seemed  to  grow  impatient,  entered  a  tobacconist's,  lit 
a  cigar,  and  stood  for  a  moment  before  the  glass  to 
look  at  his  apparel,  which  was  rather  more  elaborate 
than  the  French  laws  of  good  taste  allow.  He  arranged 
his  collar  and  a  black  velvet  waistcoat,  over  which  one 
of  those  heavy  gold  chains  made  in  Genoa  was  crossed 
and  recrossed  ;  then  with  a  single  motion  he  flung  his 
velvet-lined  cloak  over  his  left  shoulder,  where  it  fell 
with  perfect  elegance,  and  resumed  his  walk,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  inquisitive  bourgeois  glances  which  fol- 
lowed him.  When  the  shop- windows  began  to  light  up 
and  the  evening  grew  really  dark,  he  walked  toward 
the  open  space  of  the  Palais-Royal  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  fears  recognition,  keeping  close  to  the  side 
of  the  square  as  far  as  the  fountain,  so  as  to  reach, 
under  cover  of  the  line  of  hackney-coaches,  the  en- 
trance to  the  rue  Froidmanteau,  a  dirty,  dark,  and 
disreputable  street  which  the  police  tolerate  near  the 
healthful  Palais-Royal,  just  as  some  Italian  major-domo 
allows  a  negligent  footman  to  leave  the  sweepings  of 
an  apartment  in  a  corner  of  the  staircase. 

The  young  man  hesitated.  He  had  somewhat  the 
air  of  a  bourgeoise  in  her  Sunday  clothes  who  fears  to 
cross  a  gutter  when  swollen  by  the  rain  ;  yet  the  hour 


Gambara. 


177 


was  well  chosen  to  satisf}T  some  questionable  fanc}\ 
Earlier  in  the  day  he  could  have  been  detected  ;  later, 
he  might  have  been  forestalled.  To  have  allowed  him- 
self to  be  invited  by  a  glance  that  encouraged  though 
it  did  not  allure ;  to  have  followed  a  }~oung  and  hand- 
some woman  for  an  hour,  perhaps  for  a  dajT ;  to  set  her 
on  a  pinnacle  in  his  mind  and  give  a  thousand  flattering 
interpretations  to  her  thoughtless  act ;  to  find  himself 
believing  in  sudden  irresistible  sj'mpathies  ;  to  imagine, 
under  the  flame  of  a  passing  excitement,  the  advent 
of  an  adventure  in  an  age  when  romances  are  written 
because  there  exists  no  longer  the  slightest  romance  ; 
to  have  dreamed  of  balconies,  guitars,  stratagems  and 
bolts,  and  the  mantle  of  Almaviva ;  to  have  written  a 
poem  in  honor  of  the  divinity,  and,  after  all,  to  end  be- 
fore the  door  of  an  evil  resort ;  to  find  in  the  decorum 
of  his  Rosina  a  police  precaution,  — is  surely  a  histoiy? 
a  delusion,  through  which  many  men  have  passed  who 
nevertheless  would  never  admit  it.  The  most  natural 
feelings  of  all  are  those  we  are  reluctant  to  acknowl- 
edge ;  chief  among  their  number  is  personal  conceit. 
When  the  lesson  goes  no  further,  a  Parisian  profits  by 
it  or  forgets  it,  and  the  harm  clone  is  not  great ;  but  it 
is  not  so  with  a  foreigner,  who  begins  to  think  he  may 
pa}T  too  dear  for  his  Parisian  education. 

The  lounger  was  a  noble  Milanese,  banished  from  his 
country,  where  a  few  freaks  of  liberalism  had  led  the 
Austrian  government  to  suspect  him.  The  Conte  An- 
drea Marcosini  had  been  received  in  Paris  with  that 
French  social  eagerness  always  shown  to  an  amiable 

12 


178 


Gambara. 


nature  and  a  high-sounding  name,  if  accompanied  by  an 
income  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs  and  a  charming 
person.  To  such  a  man  exile  was  nothing  more  than 
travelling  for  pleasure  ;  his  propert}-  was  merely  seques- 
trated, and  his  friends  informed  him  that  after  a  year 
or  two  he  could  return  to  his  own  country  without  risk. 
After  rhyming  crudelli  affami  with  i  miei  tiranni  in  a 
dozen  or  more  sonnets,  after  assisting  with  his  money  a 
number  of  the  poorer  Italian  refugees,  Conte  Andrea, 
who  for  his  misfortune  was  a  poet,  thought  himself  re- 
leased from  patriotic  ideas.  Since  his  arrival  he  had 
given  himself  up  without  reservation  to  the  pleasures 
of  all  kinds  which  Paris  offers  gratis  to  whoever  is  rich 
enough  to  buy  them.  His  talents  and  his  beauty  won 
him  many  a  success  with  women,  whom  he  loved  collec- 
tively, as  was  natural  to  his  age,  but  among  whom  he 
had  as  yet  selected  none.  Moreover,  in  him  the  taste 
for  such  pleasures  was  subordinate  to  the  love  of  music 
and  of  poetiy, — gifts  which  he  had  cultivated  from 
childhood,  and  in  wmich  success  seemed  to  him  more 
difficult  and  glorious  than  the  triumphs  of  gallantry, 
since  nature  had  spared  him  the  difficulties  which  other 
men  were  expected  to  vanquish. 

A  complex  nature,  like  so  many  others,  he  let  himself 
be  influenced  by  the  charms  of  luxury  (without  which, 
in  fact,  he  could  not  have  lived),  just  as  he  held  tena- 
ciously to  social  distinctions  which  his  political  opin- 
ions rejected.  Thus  his  theories  as  an  artist,  a  thinker, 
and  a  poet  were  often  in  contradiction  to  his  tastes,  to 
his  feelings,  and  to  his  habits  as  an  opulent  man  of 


Gamhara. 


179 


leisure ;  but  he  consoled  himself  for  this  inconsistency 
by  observing  it  in  many  Parisians  who  are  liberals  from 
self-interest  and  aristocrats  by  nature. 

He  was  therefore  surprised  and  not  a  little  uneasy  to 
find  himself  on  foot  on  the  31st  of  December/ in  the 
midst  of  a  thaw,  following  the  steps  of  a  woman  whose 
dress  denoted  extreme  poverty,  —  a  radical,  long-stand- 
ing, inveterate  poverty,  —  though  her  beauty  was  no 
greater  than  that  which  he  could  see  any  night  at  the 
Bouffons,  the  opera,  or  in  society,  and  she  was  certainly 
not  as  young  as  Madame  de  Manerville,  with  whom  he 
had  an  appointment  that  very  day,  and  who,  in  all 
probability,  was  then  awaiting  him.  But  there  was 
something  in  the  glance,  half-tender,  half-wild,  rapid 
yet  intense,  which  the  woman's  black  eyes  furtively 
darted  upon  him ;  so  many  griefs,  so  many  stifled 
delights  ;  she  blushed  with  such  fire  when,  coming  out 
of  a  shop  where  she  had  stayed  for  some  minutes,  her 
eyes  met  those  of  Marcosini,  who  awaited  her  return  ; 
there  were,  in  short,  so  many  instigations  to  curiosity 
that  the  count,  seized  by  one  of  those  furious  tempta- 
tions for  which  there  is  no  word  in  any  language,  not 
even  in  that  of  license,  followed  in  pursuit  of  the  woman 
exactly  as  an  old  Parisian  runs  down  a  grisette.  As 
he  walked  along,  sometimes  before  and  sometimes  be- 
hind her,  he  examined  the  details  of  her  person  and 
dress,  trying  to  dislodge  the  absurd  and  frenzied  desire 
that  had  taken  possession  of  his  brain  ;  but  he  found 
in  so  doing  a  more  delightful  pleasure  still.  Some- 
times, lowering  her  head,  the  woman  threw  him  an 


180 


Gambara. 


oblique  glance  like  that  of  a  goat  tethered  to  the 
ground  ;  then,  finding  him  still  in  pursuit,  she  hastened 
her  steps  as  though  to  escape  him.  Nevertheless,  when 
a  crowd  of  carriages  or  persons  brought  Andrea  beside 
her,  the  young  noble  saw  her  shrink  from  his  look,  but 
without  showing  any  annoyance.  These  sure  signs  of 
repressed  emotion  spurred  the  unruly  dreams  which 
were  running  away  with  him,  and  he  hastened  after  her 
to  the  rue  Froidmanteau,  where,  after  many  windings, 
she  abruptly  disappeared,  trusting  that  her  pursuer, 
who  was  much  astonished  at  the  proceeding,  had  lost 
all  trace  of  her.  It  was  dark.  Two  women,  highly 
rouged,  who  were  drinking  liqueurs  in  a  grocery,  saw 
the  young  woman  and  called  to  her.  She  stopped  at 
the  sill  of  the  door,  replied  to  their  civility  in  a  few 
gentle  words,  and  continued .  her  way.  Andrea,  who 
was  close  behind,  saw  her  disappear  in  one  of  the  dark 
alleys  of  the  street,  the  name  of  which  he  did  not  know. 
The  repulsive  appearance  of  the  house  which  the  hero- 
ine of  his  romance  now  entered  turned  his  stomach. 
Stepping  back  a  few  paces  to  examine  its  surroundings, 
he  encountered  a  man  with  a  villanous  face,  and  asked 
him  its  character.  The  man  rested  one  hand  on  a 
knotty  stick,  stuck  the  other  on  his  thigh,  and  replied 
sarcastically  in  two  words,  "  Droll  dog  !  "  But  catch- 
ing full  sight  of  the  Italian  under  the  street  lamp,  his 
face  immediately  assumed  a  wheedling  expression. 

66  Ah,  excuse  me,  monsieur,"  he  said,  changing  his 
tone;  ''there's  a  restaurant  in  that  house,  a  sort  of 
table-d'hote,  where  the  cooking  is  horribly  bad  and 


Crambara. 


181 


they  put  cheese  in  the  soup.  Perhaps  that's  what 
monsieur  is  looking  for ;  it  is  easy  to  see  by  his  clothes 
that  he  is  an  Italian.  If  monsieur  would  like  me  to 
show  him  a  better  restaurant,  my  aunt  lives  close  by, 
and  she  is  very  fond  of  foreigners  —  " 

Andrea  drew  his  cloak  up  to  his  nose  and  rushed  out 
of  the  street,  driven  by  the  disgust  that  overcame  him 
for  this  filthy  individual,  whose  clothing  and  gestures 
were  in  keeping  with  the  wretched  house  which  the 
unknown  woman  had  entered.     He  returned  with  a 
sense  of  delight  to  the  comforts  and  elegancies  of  his 
own  apartment,  and  passed  the  evening  with  the  Mar- 
quise d'Espard,  endeavoring  to  wash  out  the  pollution 
of  the  fancy  that  had  taken  such  strong  hold  upon  him. 
Nevertheless,  after  he  went  to  bed,  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night,  the  vision  of  the  evening  returned  to  him, 
clearer  and  more  vivid  than   reality.    -His  divinity 
walked  before  him  ;  as  she  crossed  the  street  gutters 
she  lifted  her  dress  and  showed  a  shapely  leg;  her 
nervous  hips  quivered  at  every  step.    Andrea  fancied 
that  he  tried  to  speak  to  her  and  dared  not,  —  he,  Mar- 
cosini,  the  Milanese  noble  !    Then,  seeing  her  again  as 
she  entered  the  dark  alley  and  the  dilapidated  "house, 
he  blamed  himself  for  not  following  her  farther.   "  For  " 
he  said  to  himself,  "  if  she  avoided  me  and  was  trying 
to  put  me  off  the  scent,  she  must  love  me.  With 
women  of  her  kind  resistance  is  a  proof  of  love.  If 
I  had  pushed  the  adventure  farther,  I  might  have  been 
disgusted,  and  able  to  sleep  in  peace." 

The  count  was  in  the  habit  of  analyzing  his  keenest 


182 


Gambara. 


sensations,  as  all  men  gifted  with  heads  as  well  as 
hearts  are  involuntarily  apt  to  do  ;  and  he  was  greatly 
surprised  to  find  himself  thinking  of  the  unknown 
woman  not  with  the  ideal  glamour  of  a  vision,  but  in 
all  the  nakedness  of  her  miserable  reality.  And  yet, 
could  his  fancy  have  stripped  her  of  the  lively  of 
wretchedness,  the  woman  herself  would  have  been 
spoiled  for  him  ;  for  he  wanted  her,  he  desired  her ; 
he  loved  her  with  those  mudd}'  stockings,  those  broken 
shoes,  and  the  battered  straw  bonnet ;  he  wranted  her 
in  that  very  house  which  he  had  seen  her  enter. 

"Ami  in  love  with  vice?"  he  asked  himself,  with 
horror.  44  No,  I  have  not  come  to  that ;  I  am  twentj-- 
three  years  old  ;  I  have  nothing  of  the  satiated  old  man 
about  me." 

The  very  strength  of  the  caprice  of  which  he  seemed  to 
be  the  to}r  reassured  him  a  little.  This  curious  struggle, 
reflection  on  the  one  hand  and  love  at  a  run  on  the  other, 
may  reasonably  surprise  those  who  are  accustomed  to 
the  wrays  of  Paris  ;  but  they  must  bear  in  mind  that  the 
*Conte  Andrea  Marcosini  was  not  a  Frenchman. 

Brought  up  by  twro  abbes  who,  by  order  of  a  pious 
father,  rarely  left  him  to  himself,  Andrea  had  not  loved 
a  cousin  at  eleven  nor  seduced  his  mother's  maid  at 
twelve  ;  he  had  never  frequented  those  colleges  where 
the  most  consummate  teaching  is  not  that  furnished  by 
the  State  ;  moreover,  he  had  only  been  a  short  time  in 
Paris,  and  was  therefore  open  to  those  sudden  and 
deep  impressions  against  wrhich  the  education  and 
customs  of  Frenchmen  are  so  powerful  an  aegis.  In 


Grambara. 


183 


Southern  lands,  great  passions  are  bora  of  a  glance. 
A  Gascon  gentleman,  who  tempered  his  sensibility 
by  much  reflection,  and  possessed  an  array  of  little 
recipes  against  the  sudden  apoplexies  of  his  head  and 
heart,  advised  Marcosini  one  day  to  indulge  in  an 
orgy  a  month,  so  as  to  avert  those  storms  of  the  soul 
which  without  such  precautions  were  apt  to  burst  forth 
inconveniently.  Andrea  recollected  this  advice,  and 
said  to  himself,  as  he  went  to  sleep,  "Well,  I'll  begin 
to-morrow,  January  the  1st." 

This  explains  why  the  Conte  Andrea  Marcosini  was 
skirting  so  furtively  the  line  of  hackney-coaches  to  get 
to  the  entrance  of  the  rue  Froidmanteau.    The  man  of 
elegance  hampered  the  lover;  he  hesitated  for  some 
time,  but  after  a  last  appeal  to  his  courage  the  lover 
advanced  with  a  tolerably  firm  step  to  the  house  which 
he  had  easily  recognized.    There  he  stopped  again. 
Was  that  woman  what  he  imagined  her  to  be?  Might 
he  not  be  taking  a  false  step?    He  recollected  the 
Italian  table-d'hote,  and  eagerly  seized  a  middle  course 
which  seemed  to  serve  both  his  desires  and  his  repug- 
nance.   He  entered  the  premises  intending  to  dine 
there,  and  slid  along  a  dark  passage,  at  the  end  of 
which  he  found,  after  feeling  about  for  some  time,  the 
damp  and  greasy  steps  of  a  stairway  which  to  an  Italian 
nobleman  must  have  seemed  a  sort  of  ladder.  At- 
tracted to  the  second  floor  by  a  small  lighted  lamp 
placed  on  the  ground,  and  by  a  strong  smell  of  cooking, 
he  pushed  the  half-open  door  and  saw  a  large  room 
dingy  with  smoke  and  grease,  where  a  woman  of  all 


184 


Gambara. 


work  was  hying  the  table  for  about  twenty  guests. 
None  had  arrived  as  vet.  Glancing  round  the  ill- 
lighted  room,  where  the  paper  hung  in  strips  from  the 
walls,  the  nobleman  sat  down  near  a  stove  which 
smoked  and  rumbled  in  a  corner.  The  master  of  the 
premises,  attracted  by  the  noise  which  the  count  made 
on  entering,  now  came  abruptly  into  the  room.  Imag- 
ine a  thin,  lank  cook,  very  tali,  endowed  with  an  im- 
measurable nose,  casting  about  him  from  time  to  time 
with  feverish  excitement  a  glance  that  was  intended  to 
seem  cautious.  At  sight  of  Marcosini,  whose  dress 
and  appearance  denoted  wealth,  Signor  Giardini  bowed 
respectfully.  The  count  expressed  a  desire  to  dine 
there  habitually  with  his  compatriots,  and  to  buy  a  cer- 
tain number  of  dinner- tickets  in  advance,  giving  a 
friendly  tone  to  the  conversation  so  as  to  lead  the 
more  readily  to  his  real  object.  Xo  sooner  had  he 
alluded  to  his  unknown  attraction,  than  Signor  Giar- 
dini made  a  grotesque  gesture,  looked  at  his  customer 
with  a  roguish  eye,  and  let  a  smile  curl  his  Hp. 

44  Basta ! '"  he  cried;  iicapisco/  Vossignoria  is 
brought  here  by  two  appetites.  The  Signora  Gambara 
has  n't  wasted  her  time  if  she  has  managed  to  interest 
so  generous  a  nobleman  as  you  appear  to  be.  I  '11  tell 
you  in  a  word  all  that  we  know  here  about  the  poor 
woman,  who  is  truly  to  be  pitied.  The  husband  was 
born.  I  think,  at  Cremona,  but  he  is  lately  come  from 
Germany  ;  he  tried  to  introduce  a  new  kind  of  music 
and  new  instruments  among  those  Tedeschi.  Pitiable  !" 
exclaimed  Giardini,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "Signor 


Gambara. 


185 


Gambara,  who  fancies  he  is  a  great  composer,  does  n't 
seem  to  me  particularly  great  in  anything  else.    A  fine 
fellow,  though,  full  of  good  sense  and  witty,  sometimes 
good-natured,  especially  when  he  has  drunk  a  glass  or 
two  of  good  wine,  —  rare  event,  by  reason  of  his  horrid 
poverty.    He  busies  himself  day  and  night  in  compos- 
ing imaginary  operas  and  symphonies  instead  of  work- 
ing for  a  living  as  he  ought  to  do.    His  poor  wife  is 
reduced  to  sewing  for  all  sorts  of  people,  riff-raff! 
Well,  it  can't  be  helped ;  she  loves  her  husband  like  a 
father,  and  cares  for  him  like  a  baby.   A  great  many 
young  men  come  and  dine  here  in  hopes  of  courting 
madame,  but  not  one  has  ever  succeeded,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  an  emphasis  on  the  last  word.  "The 
Signora  Marianna  is  virtuous,  my  dear  sir,  too  virtuous 
for  her  own  good.    The  poor  woman  will  die  in  poverty. 
You 'd  suppose  her  husband  would  reward  her  for  such 
devotion,  would  n't  you?    Bah  !  he  doesn't  even  give 
her  a  smile.    Their  cooking  is  done  at  the  bakery,  for 
that  devil  of  a  man  not  only  does  n't  earn  a  penny,  but 
he  spends  all  his  wife's  earnings  in  making  instruments, 
which  he, cuts  and  fits  and  lengthens  and  shortens  and 
sets  up  and  takes  to  pieces  till  they  give  out  squeaks 
that  make  the  cats  run  away ;  then  he  is  happy.  Yet 
you  '11  find  him  the  gentlest  and  kindest  of  men,  and  not 
a  bit  lazy  ;  no,  he  is  always  at  work.    To  tell  you  the 
truth,  he 's  mad  and  does  n't  know  it.    I 've  seen  him 
filing  and  forging  those  instruments  of  his,  and  eating 
black  bread  with  an  appetite  I  actually  envied,  — yes,  I, 
monsieur,  who  keep  the  best  table  in  Paris.  Eccellenza, 


186 


Gambara. 


before  an  hour  passes  over  your  head  you  shall  know 
the  man  I  am.  I  have  introduced  into  Italian  cookery 
refinements  and  delicacies  that  will  astonish  }tou.  Ec- 
cellenza,  I  am  Neapolitan,  that  is  to  sa}T,  a  born  cook. 
But  wiiat  good  is  instinct  without  science?  Science! 
have  I  not  spent  thirty  years  in  acquiring  it?  and  see 
to  what  it  has  brought  me  I  M}'  history  is  that  of  all 
men  of  genius.  My  experiments,  m}-  inventions,  have 
ruined  three  restaurants,  — one  at  Naples,  the  others  at 
Rome  and  Parma.  Now  that  I  am  again  reduced,  here 
in  this  city,  to  make  a  trade  of  my  art,  I  indulge  my 
dominant  passion  more  than  ever.  I  serve  the  ragouts 
of  my  fancy  to  these  poor  refugees.  I  ruin  myself. 
Folly  !  do  you  say  folly?  I  know  it,  but  how  can  I  help 
it?  Genius  is  stronger  than  I;  can  I  restrain  myself 
from  the  concoction  of  a  dish  that  woos  me?  They 
know  it  at  once,  the  fine  fellows  !  I  swear  to  you  they 
can  tell  at  once  whether  it  was  my  wife  or  I  who 
handled  the  saucepans.  Well,  what 's  the  result?  Out 
of  the  sixty  and  more  guests  I  had  around  this  table 
at  the  time  when  I  first  opened  this  miserable  restau- 
rant, barely  twenty  remain,  and  most  of  those  I  take  on 
credit.  The  Piedmontese  and  the  Savoyards  have  all 
disappeared  ;  onfy  persons  of  real  taste,  the  true  Ital- 
ians, remain.  And  for  them  what  sacrifices  would  I 
not  make?  I  often  give  them  a  dinner  for  twenty-five 
sous  a  head  which  costs  me  double." 

Signor  Giardini's  little  speech  was  so  redolent  of  art- 
less Neapolitan  knavery  that  the  count  was  delighted, 
and  fancied  himself  back  at  Gerolamo. 


Gambara. 


187 


"  If  that  is  the  case,  my  dear  host,"  he  said  familiarly, 
- "  and  since  accident  and  your  good-will  have  let  me 
into  the  secret  of  your  daily  sacrifices,  permit  me  to 
double  the  sum  I  pay  you." 

So  saying,  Andrea  threw  down  a  forty-franc  piece, 
out  of  which  Signor  Giardini  scrupulously  returned  him 
two  francs  fifty  centimes,  with  various  discreet  becks 
aud  winks  which  enchanted  the  young  man. 

"  In  a  few  minutes,"  resumed  Giardini,  "you  shall 
see  your  donnina.  I  '11  place  you  at  table  next  to  the 
husband  ;  and  if  you  wish  -to  get  into  his  good  graces, 
talk  music  :  I  have  invited  them  both,  poor  souls  !  In 
honor  of  New  Tear's  day  I  have  prepared  a  dish  for  my 
guests  in  which,  I  may  say,  I  have  surpassed  myself." 

His  words  were  drowned  by  the  noisy  greetings  of 
the  said  guests,  who  came  in  one  by  one,  or  two  and  two, 
irregularly,  after  the  fashion  of  table-d'hotes.  Giar 
dini  remained  ostentatiously  beside  the  count,  point- 
ing out  to  him  the  regular  customers.  He  expended 
himself  in  quips  and  quirks,  trying  to  bring  a  smile 
to  the  lips  of  a  man  whom  his  Neapolitan  instinct 
pointed  put  to  him  as  a  rich  patron  to  be  plucked. 

"  That  man,"  he  said,  uis  a  poor  composer  who 
would  like  to  get  out  of  ballads  and  into  opera  ;  but  he 
can't.  He  complains  of  managers,  and  music-dealers, 
and  everybody  else  except  himself,  though  certainly 
he 's  his  own  worst  enemy.  Don't  you  see  what  a  florid 
skin  he  has,  what  beaming  satisfaction  in  himself,  how 
little  strain  or  effort  in  his  features  ?  He 's  cut  out  for  a 
ballad-maker  and  nothing  else.     And  that  other  man 


188 


Gambara. 


with  him,  who  looks  like  a  match-seller,  he  is  one  of 
the  greatest  musical  celebrities,  Gigelmi, — the  finest 
known  leader  of  Italian  orchestra.  But  he  ?s  deaf,  and 
his  life  is  ending  unhappily,  deprived  of  all  that  was 
attractive  to  him.  Oh,  here  comes  our  great  Ottoboni, 
the  most  artless  old  fellow  this  earth  ever  produced ; 
bat  he  is  suspected  of  conspiring  for  the  regeneration 
of  Italy.  I  should  like  to  know  why  they  ever  banished 
such  a  mild  old  gentleman  —  " 

Here  Giardini  glanced  at  the  count,  who,  aware  that 
he  was  being  sounded  politically,  maintained  an  immov- 
able aspect  that  was  truly  Italian. 

"  A  man  who  has  to  cook  for  the  world  at  large  must 
deny  himself  political  opinions,  Eccellenza,"  continued 
the  culinary  genius.  "  But  everybody  who  sees  that 
worthy  man,  who  looks,  you  observe,  more  like  a  sheep 
than  a  lion,  would  say  just  what  I  think  about  him  to 
the  Austrian  ambassador  himself.  Besides,  these  are 
days  when  liberty  is  no  longer  hunted  down  ;  her  turn 
has  come  !  The  worthy  folks  here  present  think  so, 
at  any  rate,"  he  whispered  in  the  count's  ear,  "and 
why  should  I  contradict  their  hopes,  though  I,  myself, 
don't  hate  absolutism?  All  great  talent  is  arbitrary. 
Well,  though  Ottoboni  has  genius,  he  spends  his  time 
and  pains  on  teaching  Italy  ;  he  writes  little  books  to 
enlighten  the  minds  of  children  and  the  laboring  classes, 
and  he  is  very  clever  in  getting  them  smuggled  into 
Italy ;  he  takes  every  means  to  awaken  a  moral  sense 
in  our  poor  native  land,  where  they  prefer  enjoyment  to 
liberty,  —  and  maybe  they  are  right." 


Gambara. 


189 


The  count  maintained  bis  impassible  manner,  and  the 
cook  discovered  none  of  his  political  opinions. 

44Ottoboni,"  resumed  Giardini,  "  is  a  saintly  man; 
he  is  very  benevolent  and  helpful ;  all  the  refugees  love 
him,  for  you  know,  Eccellenza,  that  a  liberal  may  have 
virtues.  Ah  !  here 's  a  journalist !  "  he  exclaimed,  inter- 
rupting himself,  and  pointing  to  a  man  who  wore  the 
clothes  conventionally  attributed  to  a  poet  in  a  garret, 
for  his  coat  was  threadbare,  his  boots  cracked,  his  hat 
greasy,  and  his  overcoat  in  a  condition  of  melancholy 
decay.  "Eccellenza,  that  poor  man  is  full  of  talent  and 
incorruptible  !  He  mistakes  the  age  ;  he  tells  truth  to 
everybody ;  people  can't  endure  him.  He  is  the  dra- 
matic critic  of  two  paltry  newspapers,  though  he  knows 
enough  to  write  for  the  great  journals.  Poor  man  ! 
The  others  are  hardly  worth  your  notice  ;  Vossignoria 
will  readily  understand  them  without  my  help,"  he  added 
hastily,  perceiving  that  the  count  no  longer  listened  to 
him,  as  the  wife  of  the  composer  entered  the  room. 

Seeing  Andrea,  Signora  Marianna  trembled,  and 
blushed  a  rosy  red. 

44  Here  he  is,"  said  Giardini  in  a  low  voice,  pressing 
the  count's  arm  as  he  showed  him  a  man  of  tall  stature. 
t4  See  how  pale  and  grave  he  is,  poor  man  !  Evidently 
the  hobby  has  n't  trotted  to  his  liking  to-day." 

Andrea's  love-dream  was  suddenly  invaded  by  the 
overpowering  charm  which  Gambara's  presence  exer- 
cised over  every  true  art-lover.  The  composer  had 
reached  his  fortieth  year ;  but  although  his  broad  fore- 
head, from  which  the  hair  had  disappeared,  was  furrowed 


190 


G  ami  or  a. 


with  a  few  parallel  lines,  and  in  spite  of  the  hollow 
temples  where  blue  veins  threaded  the  transparent  tex- 
ture of  the  smooth  skin,  in  spite,  too,  of  the  sunken 
orbits  of  the  dark  eyes  surmounted  by  heav}<  lids  and 
light-colored  lashes,  the  lower  part  of  his  face  with  its 
tranquil  lips  and  soft  outline  gave  him  all1  the  appear- 
ance of  continuous  youth.  At  a  first  glance  an  observer 
would  have  known  that  here  was  a  man  in  whom  intel- 
lect had  smothered  passion,  and  who  would  grow  old 
from  the  effects  of  mental  struggle  only.  Andrea  cast 
a  rapid  glance  at  Marian na,  who  was  watching  him. 
The  sight  of  her  glorious  Italian  head  with  its  true  pro- 
portions and  splendid  coloring,  bespeaking  an  organi- 
zation where  all  the  human  forces  were  symmetrically 
balanced,  made  him  aware  of  the  depths  which  separated 
these  two  beings,  conjoined  by  accident.  Pleased  with 
this  evidence  of  unlikeness  in  the  pair,  he  no  longer 
combated  the  feeling  which  drew  him  to  Marianna. 
But  for  the  man  whose  sole  blessing  she  was  be  already 
felt  a  sort  of  respectful  pity,  perceiving,  as  he  did,  the 
calm  and  honorable  grief  which  Gambara's  melancholy 
eyes  made  known  to  him.  Expecting,  from  Giardini's 
description,  to  meet  one  of  those  grotesque  beings  so 
often  put  forward  by  German  tale-tellers  and  libretto 
poets,  he  found  to  his  amazement  a  simple,  reserved 
man,  whose  manners  and  conduct,  free  from  all  eccen- 
tricity, were  not  without  a  nobleness  of  their  own.  The 
musician's  dress,  though  it  bore  no  trace  of  luxury,  was 
more  seemly  than  his  extreme  poverty  appeared  to 
warrant,  and  his  linen  witnessed  to  the  tender  care 


Gambara. 


191 


that  watched  over  even  the  minor  details  of  his  life. 
Andrea  lifted  his  moist  eyes  to  Marianna,  who  did  not 
blush,  though  a  half-smile  flickered  on  her  lips,  called 
forth,  perhaps,  by  the  pride  she  felt  in  the  young  man's 
mute  homage.    Too  seriously  charmed  not  to  watch  for 
the  slightest  indication  of  return  feeling,  the  count  fan- 
cied himself  beloved  on  seeing  that  she  comprehended 
him.   From  that  moment  he  devoted  himself  to  the  con- 
quest of  the  husband  rather  than  that  of  the  wife,  direct- 
ing all  his  batteries  against  poor  Gambara,  who,  sus- 
pecting nothing,  ate  the  bocconi  of  Signor  Giardini 
without  even  tasting  them.    The  count  opened  the  con- 
versation with  some  general  remark  ;  but  from  the  first 
he  was  conscious  that  the  man's  intellect,  blind  possibly 
on  one  point,  was  extraordinarily  clear-sighted  on  all 
others,  and  he  saw  plainly  that  instead  of  merely  flat- 
tering the  notions  of  this  remarkable  man,  he  would 
do  well  to  try  to  understand  his  ideas.    The  guests,  a 
hungry  crew,  whose  wit  was  sharpened  at  the  prospect 
of  a  dinner,  were  it  good  or  bad,  betrayed  a  positive 
hostility  to  poor  Gambara,  and  only  waited  the  end  of 
the  first  course  to  make  him  the  butt  of  their  ridicule. 
One  of  the  refugees,  whose  glances  in  Marianna's  direc- 
tion revealed  certain  ambitious  projects  and  a  conviction 
that  he  stood  well  in  the  graces  of  the  beautiful  Italian, 
opened  fire  by  attempting  to  explain  to  Marcosini  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  table-d'hote,  and  thus  indi- 
rectly throw  ridicule  on  the  husband. 

M  It  is  some  time  now  since  we  heard  anything  about 
the  opera  of  4  Mohammed, '  "  he  exclaimed,  smiling  at 


192 


Gambara. 


Marianna.  "Can  it  be  that  Paolo  Gambara  is  given 
over  to  domestic  cares,  and  the  charms  of  the  pot-au- 
feu,  and  neglects  his  superhuman  talent,  allowing  his 
genius  to  get  cold  and  his  imagination  chilly?" 

Gambara  knew  all  the  guests;  he  felt  that  he  lived 
in  a  sphere  above  them,  and  he  no  longer  took  the 
trouble  to  repel  their  attacks  :  he  did  not  answer. 

"It  is  not  the  privilege  of  the  world  at  large,"  put  in 
the  journalist,  "  to  have  sufficient  intellect  to  under- 
stand the  musical  lucubrations  of  Monsieur  Gambara ; 
and  that  is  doubtless  the  reason  why  our  divine  maes- 
tro does  not  produce  his  works  for  the  benefit  of  these 
excellent  Parisians." 

"  And  yet,"  remarked  the  composer  of  ballads,  who 
so  far  had  only  opened  his  mouth  to  put  into  it  all  the 
food  that  was  offered  to  him,  "  I  know  men  of  talent 
who  think  a  good  deal  of  the  judgment  of  Parisians. 
I  have  some  reputation  as  a  musician,"  he  added  mod- 
estly; "I  owe  it  merely  to  my  little  vaudeville  melo- 
dies and  to  the  great  success  of  my  quadrille  music 
at  evening  parties  ;  but  I  fully  expect  soon  to  present 
to  the  world  a  mass  composed  for  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  Beethoven,  and  I  believe  I  shall  be  better 
understood  in  Paris  than  elsewhere.  Will  monsieur  do 
me  the  honor  to  come  and  hear  it?"  he  said,  address- 
ing Andrea. 

"  Thank  you  "  replied  the  count,  "  I  am  not  endowed 
with  the  organs  necessary  for  the  appreciation  of  French 
songs  ;  but  if  you  were  dead,  monsieur,  and  Beethoven  had 
written  your  mass,  I  should  certainly  not  miss  hearing  it." 


Gambara. 


193 


This  reply  put  an  end  to  the  skirmishing  of  the  enemy, 
who  were  trying  to  start  Gambara  on  the  track  of  his 
crotchets,  for  the  purpose  of  amusing  the  new-comer. 
Already  it  was  repugnant  to  Andrea's  feelings  to  see 
so  noble  and  gentle  a  madness,  if  madness  it  were,  at 
the  mercy  of  all  these  commonplace  reasoners.  He 
carried  on,  therefore,  by  fits  and  starts,  a  conversa- 
tion with  the  artist,  in  the  course  of  which  Giardini's 
nose  was  several  times  interposed  between  two  replies. 
When  Gambara  gave  expression  to  paradoxical  ideas, 
or  uttered  some  social  witticism,  the  cook  would  thrust 
forward  his  head,  throw  a  look  of  pity  on  the  musician, 
and  a  knowing  look  at  the  count,  in  whose  ear  he 
whispered  :  — 

"Ematto!" 

Presently,  however,  the  exigencies  of  the  second 
course,  to  which  he  attached  extreme  importance,  inter- 
rupted the  sapient  observations  of  the  cook.  During 
his  absence,  which  lasted  only  a  short  time,  Gambara 
leaned  towards  Andrea  and  said  in  his  ear :  

"That  worthy  Giardini  threatens  us  to-day  with  a 
dish  of  his  own  concoction,  which  I  advise  you  to  avoid, 
though  his  wife  has  overlooked  its  preparation.  The 
honest  fellow  has  a  mania  for  innovations  in  cookery. 
He  has  ruined  himself  in  experiments;  the  last  of 
which  forced  him  to  leave  Rome  without  a  passport,  —  a 
circumstance  he  never  tells.  After  buying  the  good- 
will of  a  famous  restaurant,  he  was  engaged  to  supply 
a  supper  given  by  a  newly-appointed  cardinal  who  had 
not  yet  set  up  his  own  establishment.    Giardini  thought 

13 


194: 


Gambara. 


the  occasion  had  come  to  distinguish  himself;  he  suc- 
ceeded !  That  very  night  he  was  accused  of  poisoning 
the  whole  conclave,  and  he  was  forced  to  leave  Rome 
and  Italy  without  packing  his  trunks.  That  misfortune 
upset  his  remaining  wits,  and  now —  " 

Gambara  laid  his  forefinger  on  the  middle  of  his  fore- 
head and  shook  his  head. 

44  In  other  respects,"  he  added,  4t  he  is  a  worthy  man. 
My  wife  can  tell  you  that  we  are  under  many  obliga- 
tions to  him." 

Giardini  reappeared,  carrying  with  much  precaution 
a  dish  which  he  deposited  in  the  middle  of  the  table; 
then  he  modestly  came  and  seated  himself  beside  An- 
drea, who  was  helped  first.  No  sooner  had  the  count 
tasted  the  famous  viand  than  he  felt  there  was  an  insur- 
mountable barrier  between  the  first  and  second  mouth- 
ful. His  embarrassment  was  great ;  for  he  was  anxious 
not  to  displease  the  cook,  who  had  his  eye  upon  him. 
Though  a  French  restaurateur  may  care  little  whether 
his  customers  despise  the  dishes  they  are  sure  to  pay 
for,  it  is  quite  otherwise  with  the  Italian  trattore,  who 
is  hardly  satisfied  with  mere  praise.  To  gain  time, 
Andrea  complimented  Giardini  warmly,  and  as  he  did 
so  slipped  a  gold  piece  into  his  hand  under  the  table, 
and  whispered  to  him  to  go  and  buy  some  champagne, 
allowing  him  to  take  the  credit  of  the  liberality. 

When  the  cook  reappeared,  all  the  plates  were  empty, 
and  the  room  resounded  with  praises  for  the  provider  of 
the  feast.  The  champagne  soon  enlivened  the  Italian 
tongues,  and  the  conversation;  till  then  restrained  by  the 


Gam  ha ?' a 


195 


presence  of  a  stranger,  now  jumped  the  barriers  of  sus- 
picious reserve  and  spread  itself  here  and  there  over 
the  broad  fields  of  artistic  and  political  theory.  An- 
drea, who  was  given  to  no  intoxications  but  those  of 
love  and  poetry,  soon  made  himself  master  of  the  atten- 
tion of  those  present,  and  led  the  discussion  cleverly  to 
musical  matters. 

44  Will  you  kindly  tell  me,"  he  said  to  the  maker  of 
dance-music,  "  how  it  is  that  the  Napoleon  of  petty 
tunes  can  lower  himself  to  a  struggle  with  such  people 
as  Palestrina,  Pergolese,  Mozart,  —  poor  fellows  who 
will  have  to  depart  bag  and  baggage  on  the  advent  of 
this  stupendous  requiem  ?  " 

4  4  Monsieur,"  replied  the  composer,  "  a  musician  finds 
it  difficult  to  reply  when  his  reply  needs  the  co-opera- 
tion of  a  hundred  able  performers.  Mozart,  Haydn,  and 
Beethoven,  without  an  orchestra,  would  have  been  no 
great  things." 

44  JNTo  great  things  !  "  exclaimed  the  count.  "  Why, 
the  whole  world  knows  that  the  immortal  composer  of 
4  Don  Giovanni'  and  the  4  Requiem  '  was  named  Mozart; 
but  I  am,  unfortunately,  ignorant  of  what  the  fertile 
inventor  of  fashionable  country-dances  calls  himself." 

44  Music  exists  independently  of  its  execution,3'  said 
the  orchestra  leader,  who,  in  spite  of  his  deafness,  had 
caught  a  few  words  of  the  discussion.  44  Take  the  c 
minor  symphony  of  Beethoven,  —  a  musical  mind  is 
borne  into  the  world  of  Fancy  on  the  golden  wings  of 
that  theme  in  g,  repeated  in  e  by  the  cornets  ;  it  sees 
a  whole  nature  in  turn  illuminated  by  dazzling  jets  of 


196 


Gambara. 


light,  darkened  by  clouds  of  melancholy,  inspirited  by 
divine  songs." 

"Beethoven  is  surpassed  by  the  new  school,"  said 
the  song-composer,  disdainfully. 

44  He  is  not  yet  understood,"  said  the  count ;  44  how 
then  can  he  be  surpassed  ?  " 

Here  Gambara  drank  a  full  glass  of  champagne,  and 
accompanied  the  libation  with  an  approving  smile. 

44  Beethoven,"  continued  the  count,  4 4  has  set  forward 
the  limits  of  instrumental  music,  and  no  one  has  yet  fol- 
lowed him  along  the  way." 

Gambara  denied  this  by  a  shake  of  his  head. 

44  His  works  are  especially  remarkable  for  the  simpli- 
city of  their  plan,  and  for  the  manner  in  which  that  plan 
is  followed,"  said  the  count.  44  In  the  works  of  most  com- 
posers the  orchestral  parts  are  random  and  disorderly ; 
they  blend  only  to  produce  a  momentary  effect ;  they  do 
not  carry  forward  the  harmony  of  the  whole  by  the  regu- 
larity of  their  own  movement.  Now,  in  Beethoven  the 
effects  are,  if  I  may  say  so,  distributed  in  advance.  Just 
as  various  regiments  assist  by  regular  movements  in 
gaining  a  battle,  so  the  different  orchestral  scores  in  the 
symphonies  of  Beethoven  obey  orders  given  for  the  gen- 
eral interest,  and  are  subordinated  to  plans  judiciously 
conceived.  In  this  respect  there  is  a  marked  likeness 
between  Beethoven  and  a  genius  of  another  order.  We 
often  find  in.  the  noble  historical  romances  of  Walter 
Scott  that  the  personage  who  stands  most  aloof  from  the 
action  of  the  tale  is  brought  at  a  given  moment,  by  threads 
woven  into  the  plot,  to  take  part  in  its  catastrophe." 


Q-ambara.  297 

veto!"  said  Gambara,  whose  common-sense 
seemed  to  return  inversely  to  his  sobriety. 

Wishing  to  test  the  musician  still  further,  Andrea 
abandoned  for  the  time  being  his  own  sympathies  and 
predilections,  and  began  to  attack  the  European  repu- 
tation of  Rossini.  He  brought  those  charges  against 
the  Italian  school  which  for  the  last  thirty  years  it  has 
refuted  nightly  in  a  hundred  theatres.  He  soon  found 
he  had  his  hands  full.  At  the  first  words  he  uttered 
a  low  murmur  of  disapprobation  rose  about  him  ;  but 
neither  interruptions,  nor  exclamations,  nor  frowns',  nor 
pitying  looks,  were  able  now  to  stop  the  fanatical  ad- 
mirer of  Beethoven. 

"  Compare,"  he  said,  «  the  productions  of  the  great 
composer  with  what  it  is  the  fashion  to  call  Italian 
music;  what  crudity  of  thought,  what  viciousness  of 
style !    Hear  those  uniform  measures,  the  triteness  of 
the  cadences,  the  never-ending  ftorituri  flung  out  hap- 
hazard  no  matter  what  the  occasion,  that  monotonous 
crescendo  which  Rossini  brought  into  vogue  and  which 
to-day  is  an  essential  part  of  musical  composition  and 
last  not  least  those  bird-like  trills,  -  all  signs  of  a  'chat- 
tering, pattering,  scented  music  which  has  no  merit 
other  than  the  fluency  of  the  singer  and  the  agility  of 
the  vocalization  may  give  it !    The  Italian  school  has 
lost  sight  of  the  highest  mission  of  art.    Instead  of 
lifting  the  world  to  itself,  it  has  lowered  itself  to  the 
world;  it  has  won  its  fame  by  seeking  the  suffrages  of 
the  many,  appealing  to  common  tastes  which  are  ever  in 
the  majority.  Its  fame  is  that  of  the  street  corners  The 


198 


Gambara. 


compositions  of  Rossini,  in  which  this  sort  of  music  is 
embodied,  as  well  as  those  of  the  masters  who  derive 
more  or  less  from  him,  seem  to  me  only  worthy  of 
gathering  a  crowd  in  the  streets  round  a  Barbary 
organ,  or  keeping  time  to  the  skips  of  Pulcineila.  I 
prefer  French  music  to  that ;  I  could  n't  say  more ! 
No,  all  hail  to  German  music — whenever  it  learns  to 
sing,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice. 

This  sally  was  only  the  summing  up  of  a  long  argu- 
ment in  which  Andrea  soared  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
in  the  higher  regions  of  metaphysics  with  the  ease  of  a 
somnabulist  on  the  ridge  of  a  roof.  Keenly  interested 
in  such  subtleties,  Gambara  did  not  lose  a  single  word 
of  the  discussion ;  he  took  it  up  the  moment  Andrea 
ceased  to  speak,  and  the  attention  of  the  guests  was 
arrested  at  once  ;  even  those  who  were  in  the  act  of 
leaving  the  room,  remained  to  listen. 

"You  attack  the  Italian  school  very  vehemently," 
said  Gambara,  enlivened  by  the  champagne;  u  but 
that's  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me.  Thank  God, 
I  am  beyond  all  those  frivolities  that  are  more  or  less 
melodious.  But  for  a  man  of  the  world  you  show  little 
gratitude  for  the  classic  land  from  which  Germany  and 
France  derived  their  first  lessons.  While  the  composi- 
tions of  Carissimi,  Cavalli,  Scarlatti,  Rossi,  were  listened 
to  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  Italy,  the  vio- 
linists of  the  French  opera  had  the  singular  privilege  of 
playing  their  instruments  with  gloved  hands.  Lulli, 
who  did  so  much  to  extend  the  domain  of  harmony, 
and  was  the  first  to  give  law  to  discords,  could  only 


Gambara. 


199 


find,  on  his  arrival  in  France,  a  cook  and  a  mason  who 
had  voice  and  perception  enough  to  execute  his  music. 
He  made  a  tenor  of  the  first  and  turned  the  other  into 
a  bass.  In  those  days,  Germans,  excepting  always 
Sebastian  Bach,  were  ignorant  of  music.  But,  mon- 
sieur," added  Gambara  in  the  humble  tone  of  a  man 
who  fears  that  his  remarks  will  be  received  with  con- 
tempt and  perhaps  ill-will,  "though  young,  you  must 
have  studied  the  higher  questions  of  musical  art  for  a 
long  time,  or  you  could  not  state  them  so  clearly." 

These  words  brought  a  smile  to  the  faces  of  that 
part  of  the  audience  who  had  not  understood  Andrea's 
definitions.  Giardini,  convinced  that  the  count  was 
only  talking  at  random  for  a  purpose,  poked  him 
warily,  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  a  hoax  of  which  he 
was  proud  to  fancy  himself  an  accomplice. 

"  In  all  that  you  have  said,"  resumed  Gambara, 
"  there  is  much  that  seems  to  me  very  sensible;  but 
take  care.  Your  argument,  while  it  brands  Italian  sen- 
sualism, seems  to  incline  toward  German  idealism, 
which  is  a  not  less  fatal  heresy.  If  men  of  imagina- 
tion and  good  sense,  like  yourself,  desert  one  camp 
merely  to  pass  into  the  other,  if  they  cannot  remain 
neutral  between  the  two  extremes,  we  must  submit 
forever  to  the  sarcasm  of  those  sophists  who  deny  pro- 
gress and  compare  human  genius  to  — to  this  table- 
cloth, which,  being  too  short  to  fully  cover  Signor 
Giardini's  table,  tangs  down  at  one  end  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  other." 

Giardini  bounded  in  his  chair  as  if  a  hornet  had 


200 


Gambara. 


stung  him ;  but  hast}'  reflection  recalled  hirn  to  the 
dignity  of  an  amphitryon  ;  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven 
and  again  poked  the  count,  who  began  to  think  his  host 
more  crazj-  than  Gambara.  The  serious  and  even  re- 
ligious manner  in  which  the  latter  spoke  of  art  inter- 
ested Marcosini  beyond  measure.  Sitting  between 
these  two  crazes,  one  so  noble  the  other  so  vulgar, 
each  deriding  the  other  to  the  vast  entertainment  of 
the  herd  about  them,  the  count  felt  for  a  moment  as 
though  he  were  tossed  about  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous, — the  two  extravaganzas  of  the  comedy  of 
human  life.  Suddenly  breaking  the  chain  of  the  ex- 
traordinary transitions  which  had  led  him  into  this 
smoky  den,  he  fancied  himself  the  victim  of  some 
strange  hallucination,  and  began  to  consider  Gambara 
and  Giarclini  as  two  abstractions. 

Presently,  after  a  final  buffoonery  on  the  part  of  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra  directed  at  Gambara,  the  guests 
retired  amid  roars  of  laughter ;  Giardini  went  off  to 
make  the  coffee  he  wished  to  offer  to  his  distinguished 
patron ;  and  his  wufe  cleared  the  table.  The  count, 
sitting  next  to  the  stove  between  Marianna  and  Gam- 
bara, was  precisely  in  the  situation  that  the  latter  had 
declared  to  be  so  desirable,  —  midway  between  sen- 
sualism on  the  one  hand  and  idealism  on  the  other. 
Gambara,  meeting  for  the  first  time  a  man  who  did 
not  laugh  in  his  face,  abandoned  generalities  and  be- 
gan to  talk  of  himself,  his  life,  his  toils,  his  hopes  of 
musical  redemption,  of  which  he  thought  himself  the 
Messiah. 


Gamlara. 


201 


"Hear  me,"  he  said,  U you  who  have,  so  far,  not 
scoffed  at  me  ;  let  me  tell  you  my  life,  —  not  that  I  may 
parade  a  constancy  which  does  not  proceed  from  my 
own  self,  but  for  the  glory  of  One  who  has  put  his  force 
within  me.  You  seem  to  be  good  and  reverential  ;  if 
you  cannot  believe  in  me,  at  least  3-011  will  pity  me  : 
pity  is  of  man,  faith  comes  from  God." 

Andrea,  coloring  high,  drew  back  a  foot  which  was 
nearing  that  of  Marianna,  and  fixed  his  attention  upon 
her  while  he  listened  to  her  husband. 

44 1  was  born  at  Cremona,"  resumed  Gambara,  "  the 
son  of  a  musical  instrument  maker ;  a  rather  good  per- 
former, but  a  far  better  composer.  I  therefore  learned 
in  my  childhood  the  laws  of  musical  construction  in  its 
dual  aspect,  spiritual  and  material,  and,  with  the  curi- 
osity of  my  years,  I  made  observations  which  later 
were  put  to  use  in  the  mind  of  my  matured  manhood. 
The  French  invasion  drove  us,  my  father  and  me,  from 
our  home.  We  were  ruined  by  the  war.  From  the 
time  I  was  ten  years  of  age  I  began  that  wandering  life 
to  which  all  men  who  revolve  in  their  heads  reforms  in 
art,  science,  or  politics  are  subjected.  Fate,  or  the  natu- 
ral disposition  of  their  minds  (which  never  square  with 
the  lines  of  ordinary  minds),  leads  them  forward  provi- 
dentially to  points  where  they  receive  illumination.  Led 
by  my  passion  for  music  I  w^ent  from  theatre  to  theatre 
throughout  Italy,  living  on  little,  as  one  can  live  there. 
Sometimes  I  played  the  cello  in  orchestras  ;  often  I 
went  upon  the  boards  in  choruses,  or  to  the  wings  with 
the  mechanics.   Thus  I  studied  music  in  all  its  aspects  ; 


202 


Gambara. 


I  followed  instruments  and  the  human  voice  and  asked 
myself  wherein  they  differed  and  in  what  they  har- 
monized ;  listening  carefully  to  the  scores  and  apply- 
ing the  laws  my  father  taught  me.  Often  I  travelled 
through  the  country  mending  instruments.  It  was  a 
life  without  food  in  a  land  where  the  sun  ever  shone, 
where  art  is  everywhere  and  money  nowhere  —  at  least 
for  the  artist,  since  Rome  is  no  longer,  except  in  name, 
the  sovereign  of  the  Christian  world.  Sometimes  I  was 
well  received,  sometimes  I  was  driven  away  because  of 
my  poverty  ;  yet  I  never  lost  heart ;  I  listened  to  inward 
voices  which  foretold  fame.  Music  seemed  to  me  in  its 
infancy.  That  opinion  I  still  retain.  All  that  remains 
to  us  of  the  musical  world  anterior  to  the  seventeenth 
century  goes  to  prove  that  ancient  composers  knew 
melody  only,  they  were  ignorant  of  harmony  and  its 
vast  resources.  Music  is  both  a  science  and  an  art. 
The  roots  which  it  sends  into  physics  and  mathematics 
make  it  a  science;  it  becomes  an  art  by  inspiration, 
which  employs,  unknown  to  itself,  the  propositions  of 
science.  It  derives  from  the  physical  by  the  very 
essence  of  the  substance  it  employs.  Sound  is  air  modi- 
fied ;  air  is  made  up  of  elements,  which  no  doubt  find 
within  us  analogous  elements  which  respond  to  them, 
which  sympathize  with  and  augment  them,  by  the 
power  of  thought.  Thus  air  must  certainly  contain  as 
many  particles  of  varying  elasticity,  capable  of  as  many 
vibrations  of  different  length,  as  there  are  tones  in  re- 
verberating bodies ;  and  these  particles,  perceived  by 
our  ear  and  put  into  operation  by  the  musician,  answer 


Crambara. 


203 


to  ideas  according  to  our  several  organizations.  In  my 
opinion  the  nature  of  sound  is  identical  with  that  of 
light.  Sound  is  light  under  another  form  ;  both  act  by 
vibrations  which  end  in  man,  and  which  he  then  trans- 
forms in  his  nerve-centres  into  thoughts.  Music  is  like 
painting,  which  employs  bodies  that  have  the  faculty  of 
disengaging  this  or  that  property  of  the  mother-sub- 
stance for  the  composition  of  a  picture.  So  in  music, 
instruments  fulfil  the  function  of  a  painter's  color.  In- 
asmuch as  all  sound  produced  by  a  reverberating  bod}r 
is  invariably  accompanied  by  its  major  third  and  fifth, 
and  influences  grains  of  dust  spread  upon  a  flat  parch- 
ment so  as  to  trace  geometrical  figures  of  uniform 
shapes  upon  it,  according  to  the  varying  volumes  of 
the  sound,  regular  when  harmony  is  given  forth,  and 
without  exact  form  when  discords  are  produced,  I  say 
that  music  is  an  art  woven  from  the  veiy  bowels  of 
Nature." 

Gambara's  calm  eyes  rested  on  Marcosini,  who  lis- 
tened to  him  with  rapt  attention. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "music  obeys  both  plrysical 
and  mathematical  laws.  The  physical  laws  are  little 
known,  the  mathematical  laws  are  better  known  and 
understood  ;  the  study  of  their  action  and  influence  led 
to  the  creation  of  harmony,  to  which  we  owe  Mozart, 
Haydn,  Beethoven,  and  Rossini,  men  of  glorious  genius 
wTho  have  certainly  produced  a  music  that  is  nearer 
perfection  than  their  predecessors,  —  though  the  genius 
of  the  latter  is  incontestable.  The  old  masters  sang 
their  music  instead  of  modelling  it  on  art  and  science, 


204 


Gamlara. 


—  a  glorious  alliance  which  blends  into  one  whole  the 
beauties  of  melody  and  the  powers  of  harmony.  Now 
if  the  discovery  of  the  mathematical  laws  of  music  gave 
these  four  great  musicians  to  humanity,  to  what  height 
may  we  not  attain  when  we  succeed  in  discovering  the 
physical  laws  in  virtue  of  which  (I  beg  you  to  observe 
this)  we  store  up  in  great  or  lesser  quantity,  according 
to  proportions  yet  to  be  discovered,  a  certain  ethereal 
substance  diffused  upon  the  air,  which  gives  us  music 
as  it  gives  us  light,  and  the  phenomena  of  vegetation 
as  well  as  those  of  zoology .    Do  you  understand  me  ? 
These  new  laws  provide  the  composer  with  new  powers  ; 
offering  him  instruments  superior  to  all  present  instru- 
ments and,  possibly,  a  finer  harmony  than  that  which 
rules  the  realm  of  music  at  the  present  day.    If  each 
modulated  tone  obeys  a  power,  we  must  know  what 
that  power  is  in  order  that  we  may  couple  these  forces 
according  to  their  appropriate  laws.    Composers  are 
now  working  on  substances  that  are  unknown  to  them. 
Why  should  an  instrument  of  metal  and  an  instrument 
of  wood,  the  bassoon  and  the  cornet,  resemble  each 
other  so  little  in  their  effects,  though  they  are  worked 
by  the  same  substances,  that  is  to  say,  by  the  constitu- 
ent gases  of  the  atmosphere.   Their  dissimilarities  come 
either  from  some  decomposition  of  those  gases,  or  from 
the  assimilation  of  principles  wrhich  are  suited  to  them 
and  which  they  send  back  modified  by  the  power  of 
faculties  yet  unknown  to  us.    If  we  could  discover 
what  those  faculties  are,  science  and  art  would  gain 
immensely.    Whatever  extends  science  extends  art. 


G  ambara. 


205 


"  Well !  "  he  cried,  after  a  momentary  pause,  44  those 
discoveries  !  I  have  tracked  them,  I  have  made  them  ! 
Yes"  he  continued,  growing  more  and  more  animated, 
64  until  now  man  has  noted  effects  rather  than  causes. 
If  he  could  penetrate  causes  music  would  become  the 
greatest  of  all  the  arts.  In  painting  you  see  only 
what  pictures  show  you ;  you  hear  only  what  the  poet 
tells  you  ;  music  goes  far  beyond  that,  —  it  forms  your 
thought,  it  awakens  your  torpid  memory.  Behold  a 
thousand  souls  present  in  one  assembly;  notes  issue 
from  Pasta's  throat  (rendering  so  well  the  thoughts 
that  shone  in  Rossini's  soul  when  he  wrote  the  melody) 
and  that  single  phrase  of  the  master  transmitted  into 
those  diverse  souls  develops  in  them  as  many  diverse 
poems.  To  one  it  shows  a  woman  long  desired  ;  to  an- 
other some  shore  where  once  he  paced,  whose  droop- 
ing willows  and  transparent  water  reappear  to  him  with 
the  hopes  that  danced  beneath  the  bosky  coverts ;  this 
woman  recalls  the  throng  of  feelings  that  tortured  her 
in  an  hour  of  jealousy ;  another,  the  unsatisfied  long- 
ings of  her  heart,  painting  to  her  mind  with  the  rich 
colors  of  a  dream  the  ideal  being  whom  she  would  fain 
embrace  with  the  ardor  of  her  who  caresses  her  chimera 
in  the  Roman  mosaic ;  another  thinks  of  desires  about 
to  be  realized,  and  plunges  by  anticipation  into  a  tor- 
rent of  delights  whose  waves  bound  up  and  break  upon 
her  burning  breast.  Music  alone  has  power  to  make 
us  live  within  ourselves :  all  other  arts  give  limited 
pleasures  only  —  Rut  I  am  wandering  too  far.  Such, 
then,  were  my  first  ideas,  —  vague  indeed,  for  an  inventor 


206 


Grambara. 


sees  at  first  only  a  faint  aurora.  But  I  carried  these 
glorious  ideas  at  the  bottom  of  my  wallet  wherever  I 
went ;  they  helped  me  to  eat  the  dry  crusts  gayly  as 
I  soaked  them  in  the  water  of  the  wayside  fountains. 
I  worked,  I  composed  melodies,  and  when  I  had  played 
them  on  some  instrument,  no  matter  what,  I  resumed 
my  travels  through  Italy.  At  last,  when  I  was  twenty- 
two,  I  went  to  live  in  Venice,  where  for  the  first  time 
I  found  tranquillity  and  gained  a  tolerable  position.  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  an  old  Venetian  noble,  who 
was  pleased  writh  my  ideas,  encouraged  me  in  my  re- 
searches, and  found  me  employment  at  the  Fenice  thea- 
tre. Life  in  Venice  is  very  cheap ;  and  lodgings  cost 
but  little.  I  occupied  an  apartment  in  that  Palazzo 
Capello  whence  the  beauteous  Bianca  issued  one  night 
to  become  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany  and  Queen  of 
Cyprus.  I  dreamed  that  my  hidden  fame  would  issue 
thence  and  crown  me,  like  her,  in  coming  days.  I 
spent  my  evenings  at  the  theatre  and  my  days  in 
work.  A  disaster  overtook  me.  The  representation 
of  an  opera,  '  The  Mart}Ts/  in  which  I  had  embodied 
my  ideas,  was  a  failure.  No  one  understood  my  music. 
Give  Beethoven  to  Italians  and  they  know  not  where 
the}'  are.  No  one  had  the  patience  to  await  an  effect 
which  all  the  different  themes  of  each  instrument  were 
preparing,  until  they  gathered  into  one  grand  harmony. 
I  had  founded  hopes  on  that  opera  of  'The  Martyrs,'  — 
for  we  always  discount  success,  we  lovers  of  the  azure 
goddess  Hope !  When  a  man  believes  he  is  destined 
to  produce  great  things,  it  is  difficult  not  to  have  pre- 


Grambara. 


207 


sentiments  of  success ;  the  cask  has  chinks  through 
which  the  light  will  enter.  In  the  same  palazzo  lived 
my  wife's  family ;  and  the  hope  of  winning  Marianna's 
hand,  when  she  smiled  upon  me  from  her  window,  had 
greatly  contributed  to  my  efforts.  I  fell  into  a  state  of 
dark  melancholy  as  I  measured  the  depth  of  the  abyss 
into  which  I  had  fallen ;  I  saw  there  was  nothing  be- 
fore me  but  a  life  of  poverty,  —  a  ceaseless  struggle  in 
which  love  must  perish.  Marianna  did  as  genius  does  ; 
she  sprang  with  joined  feet  over  and  beyond  all  difficul- 
ties. I  will  not  speak  of  the  slender  happiness  that 
brightened  the  early  days  of  my  misfortunes.  Terri- 
fied at  my  downfall,  I  believed  that  Italy,  dull  of  com- 
prehension and  slumbering  to  the  chorus  of  routine, 
was  not  prepared  to  receive  the  innovations  I  was  med- 
itating ;  my  thoughts  turned  to  Germany.  As  I  trav- 
elled towards  that  country,  taking  my  way  through 
Hungary,  I  listened  to  the  manifold  voices  of  nature  ; 
I  endeavored  to  reproduce  their  sublime  harmonies  by 
the  help  of  instruments  which  I  made  or  modified  for 
the  purpose.  These  experiments  required  enormous 
outlays  which  soon  absorbed  our  slender  savings.  And 
yet  this  was  the  happiest  period  of  our  lives  ;  I  was 
appreciated  in  German}^.  Nothing  finer  has  come  into 
my  life.  I  know  of  nothing  to  compare  with  the  tu- 
multuous sensations  that  filled  my  being  in  presence 
of  Marianna,  whose  beauty  was  then  in  all  its  glory 
and  celestial  power.  Must  I  admit  it  ?  —  I  was  happy. 
More  than  once  during  those  hours  of  weakness  my 
passion  made  me  speak  the  language  of  terrestrial  har- 


208 


Gambara. 


monies.  I  composed  at  times  a  few  of  those  melodies 
which  resemble  geometrical  figures,  and  are  so  much 
prized  in  the  world  you  live  in.  But  as  soon  as  I  at- 
tained success,  invincible  obstacles  were  put  in  my  way 
by  my  co-musicians,  all  faithless  or  incapable.  I  had 
heard  of  France  as  a  country  where  innovations  were 
welcomed,  and  I  resolved  to  go  there  ;  my  wife  col- 
lected the  means  and  we  came  to  Paris.  Up  to  that 
time  no  one  had  ever  laughed  in  my  face ;  but  in  this 
dreadful  city  I  was  forced  to  bear  that  cruel  torture 
added  to  the  sharp  anguish  of  our  miserable  poverty. 
Compelled  to  lodge  in  this  polluted  quarter  of  the 
town,  we  have  lived  for  the  last  few  months  on  Ma- 
rianna's  toil ;  she  sews  for  the  unhappy  prostitutes 
who  tramp  this  neighborhood.  Marianna  tells  me  she 
is  treated  with  deference  and  generosity  by  these  poor 
women,  which  I  attribute  to  the  ascendency  of  a  virtue 
so  pure  that  vice  is  compelled  to  respect  it." 

u  Hope  on,"  said  Andrea.  u  Perhaps  you  have 
reached  the  end  of  your  trials.  My  efforts  shall  be 
united  to  yours  to  bring  }Tour  labors  into  the  light  of 
day  ;  meantime  allow  a  compatriot,  an  artist  like  your- 
self, to  offer  3'ou  in  advance  a  part  at  least  of  your 
inevitable  future  gains." 

"All  that  belongs  to  my  material  life  is  my  wife's 
affair,"  answered  Gambara;  u  she  will  decide  whether 
we  can  accept  without  humiliation  the  assistance  of  an 
honorable  man,  such  as  you  appear  to  be.  For  myself, 
who  have  been  led  to  make  }^ou  this  over-long  confi- 
dence, I  must  ask  your  permission  to  withdraw.  A 


Crambara. 


209 


melody  beckons  me ;  it  dances  and  darts  before  me, 
naked  and  shivering,  like  a  beautiful  girl  without  her 
garments.  Adieu,  I  must  go  and  clothe  my  mistress  ; 
I  leave  my  wife  with  you." 

He  hurried  away  like  a  man  who  blamed  himself  for 
wasting  precious  time;  Marianna,  half-embarrassed, 
tried  to  follow  him.  Andrea  dared  not  retain  her, 
but  Giarclini  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Signorina,"  he  said,  "  did  you  not  hear  your  hus- 
band tell  you  to  settle  matters  with  the  signor  count?  " 

Marianna  sat  down  again,  but  without  looking  at 
Andrea,  who  hesitated  to  address  her. 

■'"The  confidence  Signor  Gambara  has  placed  in  me," 
he  said  at  last,  in  a  tone  of  emotion,  "may  perhaps 
win  me  that  of  his  wife.  Will  la  bella  Marianna  con- 
sent to  tell  me  'the- history  of  her  own  life?  " 

"  My  life? "  answered  Marianna,  "  my  life  is  that  of 
an  ivy.  As  to  the  history  of  my  heart,  you  must  think 
me  exempt  from  pride  as  well  as  devoid  of  modesty 
if  you  can  ask  me  to  tell  it  to  you  after  what  you  have 
just  heard." 

uOf  whom  shall  I  ask  it?"  cried  the  count,  whose 
passion  was  beginning  to  extinguish  his  wits. 

u  Of  yourself,"  replied  Marianna.  "  Either  you  have 
already  comprehended  me,  or  you  never  will.  Ask 
yourself." 

"I  will;  but. you  must  listen  to  me.  I  take  your 
hand ;  leave  it  in  mine  so  long  as  I  tell  your  story 
truthfully." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Marianna. 

14 


210 


Grambara. 


"  The  life  of  a  woman  begins  with  her  first  passion," 
said  Andrea.  "  My  clear  Marianna  began  to  live  on  the 
day  when  she  first  saw  Paolo  Gauibara ;  her  nature 
needed  a  deep  passion  to  give  it  joy;  above  all  she 
needed  some  pathetic  weakness  to  protect  and  sustain. 
The  splendid  female  organization  with  which  she  is  en- 
dowed is,  perhaps,  less  drawn  to  love  than  to  mater- 
nity. You  sigh,  Marianna ;  have  I  laid  my  finger  on 
an  open  wound  ?  You  took  upon  yourself  a  noble  part, 
protecting,  as  you  do,  a  fine,  distraught  intellect.  You 
said  to  yourself :  '  Paolo  shall  be  my  genius  and  I  will 
be  his  reason  ;  between  us  we  shall  become  that  being, 
well-nigh  divine,  that  men  call  angel, — that  sublime 
creature  which  enjoys  and  comprehends,  while  neither 
virtue  nor  wisdom  stifles  love.'  In  the  first  trans- 
ports of  youth  you  heard  the  myriad  voices  of  nature 
which  your  poet  longed  to  reproduce.  Enthusiasm 
filled  your  soul  when  Paolo  spread  before  you  those 
treasures  of  poetry  as  he  vainly  sought  their  equivalent 
in  the  sublime  but  limited  language  of  his  own  art; 
you  admired  him  as  an  ecstatic  elation  carried  him  far 
above  you,  for  you  liked  to  think  that  all  that  errant 
energy  would  sooner  or  later  return  to  love.  You  knew 
nothing  of  the  tyrannous  and  jealous  empire  which 
thought  maintains  over  the  brains  that  fall  in  love  with 
it.  Gambara  was  the  slave,  before  he  knew  you,  of 
that  proud  and  vindictive  mistress,  against  whom  you 
have  vainly  struggled  for  him  to  this  day.  For  one 
sole  moment  happiness  opened  before  you.  When 
Paolo  fell  from  the  heights  where  his  mind  continually 


Gcambara. 


211 


soared,  he  found  reality  (the  reality  of  your  love)  so 
sweet  that  you  may  well  have  thought  his  madness 
would  slumber  forever  in  your  arms.  But  music  re- 
gained her  prey.  The  dazzling  illusion  which  carried 
you  suddenly  into  the  delights  of  mutual  passion  made 
the  solitary  path  to  which  you  then  found  yourself  con- 
demned only  the  more  arid  and  darksome.  From  the 
story  your  husband  has  just  told  me,  as  from  the 
striking  contrast  between  your  person  and  his,  I  di- 
vine the  secret  anguish  of  your  life,  the  painful  mys- 
teries of  this  ill-assorted  union  in  which  you  take  the 
lot  of  suffering  upon  yourself.  Marianna,  though  your 
conduct  is  ever  heroic  and  your  fortitude  never  deserts 
you  in  the  performance  of  your  cruel  duties,  perhaps  in 
the  silence  of  your  solitary  nights  the  heart  wThich  now 
is  beating  hard  within  your  bosom  may  rise  and  mur- 
mur. Your  w^orst  torture  is  the  worthiness  of  your 
husband ;  were  he  less  noble,  less  pure,  you  might 
abandon  him ;  but  his  virtues  support  yours ;  between 
your  heroism  and  his  you  may  well  ask  yourself  which 
should  be  the  last  to  give  way.  You  are  pursuing  the 
real  grandeur  of  your  task  while  Paolo  is  pursuing  his 
chimera.  If  the  love  of  duty  alone  sustained  and 
guided  you,  perhaps  victory  might  seem  easier  to  you  ; 
to  kill  your  heart  and  carry  your  life  into  the  region  of 
abstractions  might  even  suffice  you ;  religion  would 
absorb  the  rest ;  you  would  live  by  an  idea,  like  those 
saintly  women  who  extinguish  at  the  foot  of  the  altar 
all  the  instincts  of  their  nature.  But  the  charm  of 
Paolo's  person,  the  elevation  of  his  soul,  the  rare  and 


212 


Gcambara. 


affecting  proofs  which  he  gave  you  of  his  tenderness, 
have  perpetually  driven  you  from  the  ideal  world  where 
virtue  tried  to  keep  you ;  they  have  excited  forces 
within  you  which  are  exhausted  incessantly  in  your 
unequal  struggle  against  the  phantom  of  love.  But 
the  time  has  come  wmen  you  deceive  yourself  no  longer. 
Years  of  disillusion  have  stripped  your  patience  from 
you ;  an  angel  w7ould  have  lost  it  long  ago.  To-day 
your  hope  so  long  pursued  is  a  shadow,  not  a  sub- 
stance. Madness  so  near  allied  to  genius  must  ever  be 
incurable  on  earth.  Aware,  at  last,  of  this  truth,  you 
have  thought  of  your  youth  —  lost,  or  at  least  sacri- 
ficed ;  you  have  bitterly  perceived  the  wrong  done 
you  by  nature  which  gave  you  a  father  only  where  you 
sought  a  husband.  You  ask  yourself  whether  you 
have  not  gone  far  beyond  the  duties  of  a  wife  in 
keeping  yourself  faithfully  to  a  man  who  knows  no 
wife  but  science.  Marianna,  leave  me  your  hand  ;  all 
that  I  have  told  you  is  true.  You  have  cast  your  eyes 
about  you  but — you  were  in  Paris,  not  in  Italy  where 
they  know  how  to  love  —  " 

"  Oh  !  let  me  end  the  tale,"  cried  Marianna,  "  I  would 
rather  say  these  things  myself.  I  will  be  frank.  I  know 
I  speak  to  my  best  friend.  Yes,  I  was  in  Paris  when 
all  that  you  explain  so  clearly  took  place  within  me  ; 
but  when  I  met  you  I  was  saved,  for  I  had  nowhere 
met  the  love  I  had  dreamed  of  from  my  infancy.  My 
dress  and  my  abode  withdrew  me  from  the  notice  of 
men  like  you.  The  few  young  men  I  meet  here  are 
odious  to  me  ;  they  treat  me  with  disrespect ;  the}7  scoff 


Cramlara. 


213 


at  my  husband  as  a  foolish  dotard ;  some  basely  court 
him  only  to  betray  him ;  they  all  seek  to  separate  me 
from  him  ;  none  of  them  understand  the  worship  I  have 
vowed  to  that  soul  which  is  so  far  away  from  us  only 
because  it  is  so  near  heaven,  nor  the  love  I  feel  for  that 
friend,  that  brother  whom  I  desire  to  serve  —  forever. 
You  alone  have  understood  the  tie  that  binds  me  to  him. 
Tell  me  that  your  interest  in  my  Paolo  is  sincere,  and 
without  an  object  —  " 

"  I  accept  your  praise,"  interrupted  Andrea  ;  "but  do 
not  go  too  far  ;  do  not  oblige  me  to  contradict  you.  I 
love  you,  Marianna,  as  we  love  the  glorious  land  where 
you  and  I  were  born  ;  I  love  you  with  all  my  soul  and 
with  all  my  strength  ;  but,  before  I  offer  you  this  love 
I  desire  to  make  myself  worthy  of  obtaining  yours.  I 
will  make  a  last  effort  to  give  you  back  the"  man  you 
have  loved  from  childhood  and  whom,  perhaps,  you  will 
never  cease  to  love.  While  awaiting  success  or  defeat, 
accept,  without  a  blush,  the  comforts  of  life  which  I 
desire  to  give  to  both  of  you.  To-morrow  let  us  seek  a 
suitable  lodging  for  him.  Do  you  esteem  me  enough 
to  allow  me  to  share  your  guardianship  ?  " 

Marianna,  astonished  at  his  generosity,  held  out  her 
hand  ;  the  count  took  it,  and  then  left  the  room,  endeavor- 
ing to  avoid  the  civilities  of  Signor  Giardini  and  his  wife. 

The  next  day  Andrea  was  ushered  by  Giardini  into 
the  apartment  occupied  by  the  husband  and  wife. 
Though  Marianna  well  knew  the  superior  nature  of  her 
lover  (for  there  are  souls  that  can  be  quickly  read),  she 


214 


Gambara. 


was  too  good  a  housekeeper  not  to  show  some  embar- 
rassment on  receiving  a  great  lord  in  so  poor  a  chamber. 
But  it  was  very  clean.  She  had  passed  the  morning  in 
dusting  her  extraordinary  furniture,  the  handiwork  of 
Giardini,  who  had  spent  his  leisure  hours  in  construct- 
ing it  from  the  woodwork  of  instruments  discarded  by 
Gambara.  Andrea  had  never  seen  anything  so  amaz- 
ing in  his  life.  To  maintain  the  semblance  of  gravity, 
he  was  forced  to  turn  his  eyes  away  from  the  composer's 
bed,  grotesquely  fabricated  by  the  cook  out  of  the  case 
of  an  old  spinet,  and  look  at  Marianna's  narrow  couch, 
whose  single  mattress  was  covered  with  a  piece  of  white 
muslin,  a  sight  which  filled  him  with  thoughts  both  sad 
and  tender.  He  wished  to  speak  of  his  plans  and  to 
arrange  for  the  employment  of  the  morning  ;  but  the  en- 
thusiastic Gambara,  believing  that  he  had  met  with  a 
willing  auditor  at  last,  seized  upon  the  count  and  com- 
pelled him  to  listen  to  an  opera  which  he  had  written 
for  the  Parisians. 

■"  In  the  first  place,  monsieur/'  said  Gambara,  "  allow 
me  to  tell  you  the  subject  in  half  a  dozen  words.  Here, 
in  Paris,  persons  who  receive  musical  impressions  never 
develop  them  within  their  own  souls,  as  religion  teaches 
us  to  develop  sacred  texts,  by  prayer  and  meditation; 
consequently,  it  is  difficult  to  make  them  understand 
that  there  exists  in  nature  an  eternal  music,  a  melody 
infinitely  sweet,  a  perfect  harmony,  troubled  only  by 
fluctuations  independent  of  the  divine  will,  as  passions 
are  independent  of  the  will  of  men.  It  was  therefore 
necessary  that  I  should  find  some  vast  canvas  or  frame 


Grambara. 


215 


able  to  contain  and  to  show  effects  and  causes  — for  my 
music  aims  to  present  a  picture  of  the  life  of  nations 
taken  at  its  highest  point  of  view.  My  opera  (of  which 
I  wrote  the  libretto,  for  a  poet  could  never  have  devel- 
oped the  subject)  gives  the  life  of  Mohammed,  a  per- 
sonage in  whom  the  magic  of  ancient  Sabaeanism  and 
the  oriental  poetry  of  the  Jewish  religion  were  brought 
together  to  produce  one  of  the  greatest  of  human 
poems, — the  dominion  of  the  Arabs.  Undoubtedly, 
Mohammed  borrowed  the  idea  of  absolute  government 
from  the  Jews,  and  the  progressive  movement  which 
created  the  brilliant  empire  of  the  caliphs  from  the  pas- 
toral or  Sabsean  religions.  The  prophet's  destiny  was 
imprinted  on  his  very  birth.  His  father  was  a  Pagan 
and  his  mother  a  Jewess.  Ah!  my  dear  count,  to  be 
a  great  musician  one  must  needs  be  very  learned. 
Without  education  there  is  no  such  thing  as  local  color, 
in  fact,  no  ideas  in  music.  The  composer  who  sings 
to  sing  is  an  artisan,  not  an  artist.  This  magnificent 
opera  is  the  continuation  of  the  great  work  I  had 
already  begun.  My  first  opera  was  called  6  The  Mar- 
tyrs ; '  I  intend  to  write  a  third  on  '  Jerusalem  Deliv- 
ered.' You  see,  of  course,  the  beauty  of  this  triple 
composition  and  its  manifold  resources.  The  Martyrs, 
Mohammed,  Jerusalem !  The  God  of  the  Occident, 
the  God  of  the  Orient,  and  the  struggle  of  their  reli- 
gions around  a  tomb.  But  let  me  not  speak  of  my  lost 
greatness  !    Listen  to  a  summary  of  my  opera. 

"The  first  act,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  shows 
Mohammed  an  agent,  living  in  the  house  of  Khadijah, 


216 


Grambara. 


a  rich  widow  with  whom  his  uncle  placed  him.  He  is 
amorous  and  ambitious.  Driven  from  Mecca,  he  flies 
to  Medina,  and  dates  his  era  from  the  period  of  his 
flight  (the  Hegira).  The  second  act  presents  Moham- 
med the  prophet  founding  a  religion  militant.  The 
third  shows  him  satiated  with  all  things ;  having  ex- 
hausted life,  he  seeks  to  conceal  his  death  that  he  may 
seem  a  god,  —  last  effort  of  human  pride!  You  shall 
now  judge  of  my  method  of  expressing  by  sounds  a 
great  fact  which  poetry  can  only  render  imperfectly 
by  words." 

Gambara  seated  himself  at  the  piano  with  a  calm, 
collected  air ;  his  wife  brought  the  voluminous  sheets 
of  the  score,  which,  however,  he  did  not  open. 

u  The  whole  opera,"  he  said,  "  rests  on  a  bass,  as  on 
a  rich  territory.  Mohammed  must  therefore  have  a  ma- 
jestic bass  voice,  and  his  first  wife,  necessarily,  a  con- 
tralto. Khadijah  was  past  youth  ;  she  was  twenty  years 
of  age.  Attention  !  the  overture  begins  (c  minor)  with 
an  andante  (three-four  time).  Do  you  hear  the  sad- 
ness of  the  ambitious  man  whom  love  cannot  satisfy  ? 
Through  his  plaints,  by  a  transition  to  related  time 
(e  flat  allegro,  common-time),  are  heard  the  cries  of  the 
epileptic  lover,  his  ravings,  mingled  with  a  few  warlike 
sounds ;  for  the  all-powerful  sabre  of  the  caliphs  is 
beginning  to  gleam  before  his  eyes.  The  manifold 
beauties  of  the  single  wife  give  him  the  idea  of  that 
plurality  of  love  which  strikes  us  so  forcibly  in  Don 
Giovanni.  Hearing  this  theme  do  you  not  already 
foresee  the  paradise  of  Mohammed?    But  here  (a  flat, 


Gramhara.  217 

major  key,  six-eight)  is  a  cantahile  fit  to  delight  a  soul 
rebellious  to  all  musieal  emotions  ;  Khadijah  lias  com- 
prehended Mohammed!     Khadijah  announces  to  the 
multitude  the  conferences  of  the  prophet  with  the  angel 
Gabriel  (maestoso  sostenuto  in  f  minor).    The  magis- 
trates and  priests,  power  and  religion,  feeling  them- 
selves attacked  by  the  reformer,  as  Socrates  and  Christ 
attacked  the  worn-out,  expiring  religions  and  powers, 
turn  upon  the  prophet  and  drive  him  from  Mecca  (strette 
in  c  major).    But  now,  listen  !  comes  my  glorious  domi- 
nant O  common-time).     Arabia  hears  her  prophet, 
the  horsemen  gather  (g  major,  e  flat,  n  flat,  g  minor, 
still  common-time).    The  avalanche  of  men  augments. 
The  false  prophet  practises  on  a  tribe  the  deceptions  he 
is  soon  to  impose  upon  a  world  (g,  g).    He  promises 
universal  dominion  to  the  Arabs ;  they  believe  him  be- 
cause he  is  inspired.    The  crescendo"  begins  (with  the 
same  dominant).    Listen  to  the  flourish  of  trumpets  (c 
major)  ;  brass  instruments  woven  into  the  harmony,  but 
detaching  themselves  from  it  to  express  the  first'  tri- 
umphs of  victory.  Medina  is  conquered  for  the  prophet 
and  they  march  to  Mecca  (burst  of  martial  music,  still  c 
major).    The  powers  of  the  orchestra  roll  forth  like  a 
conflagration,  the  instruments  all  speak ;  do  you  hear 
those  torrents  of  harmony?    Suddenly  the  tutti  is  in- 
terrupted by  a  graceful  theme  (minor  third).  Hear 
the  last  melody  of  devoted  love !    The  woman  who 
sustains  the  great  man  dies,  concealing  her  despair ; 
she  dies  at  the  triumph  of  him  in  whom  love  had  be- 
come too  mighty  to  conflne  itself  to  one  woman ;  she 


218 


Gambara. 


adores  him  enough  to  sacrifice  herself  to  the  greatness 
which  destroys  her.  Soul  of  fire!  But  now  behold! 
the  desert  invades  the  world  (c  major  again).  The 
orchestral  parts  take  up  the  score  in  a  terrible  fifth  of 
the  fundamental  bass,  which  dies  away, — Mohammed 
is  satiated  ;  he  has  tasted  and  exhausted  all !  But  he 
chooses  to  die  a  God  !  Arabia  adores  him  with  prayer ; 
here  we  fall  back  into  my  first  sad  strain,  after  the 
curtain  rose  (c  minor).  Do  you  not  find  in  this  mu- 
sic," said  Gambara,  ceasing  to  play,  and  turning  round 
to  the  count,  "fn  this  vivid,  jostling,  melancholy,  fan- 
tastic, and  ever  grand  music,  the  expression  of  the  life 
of  an  epileptic  frantic  after  pleasure,  unable  to  read  or 
write,  making  his  very  defects  the  stepping-stones  of 
his  grandeur,  transforming  his  faults  and  his  misfor- 
tunes into  triumphs  ?  Have  you  not  obtained  from  this 
overture  —  a  mere  sample  of  the  opera  —  an  idea  of  his 
seductive  power  over  an  eager  and  amorous  people?" 

The  face  of  the  maestro,  from  which  Andrea  endeav- 
ored to  divine  the  meaning  of  the  ideas  he  was  uttering 
with  an  inspired  voice,  and  which  a  chaotic  medley  of 
notes  hindered  his  hearer  from  comprehending,  at  first 
austere  and  calm,  grew  more  and  more  animated  until 
at  last  it  took  a  passionate  expression  which  reacted 
upon  Marianna  and  Giardini.  Marianna,  keenly  affected 
by  the  passages  in  which  she  recognized  her  own  posi- 
tion, could  not  hide  the  agitation  of  her  face  from 
Andrea.  Gambara  wiped  his  forehead  and  threw  his 
glance  with  such  force  to  the  ceiling  that  his  eyes 
seemed  to  pierce  it  and  rise  upward  to  the  skies. 


Gambara. 


219 


"  You  have  seen  the  peristyle,"  he  said,  "  let  us  now 
enter  the  temple.  The  opera  begins.  First  Act: 
Mohammed,  alone,  on  the  front  of  the  scene,  sings  an 
air  (f  natural,  common  time),  interrupted  by  a  chorus 
of  camel-drivers,  who  surround  a  well  at  the  back  of 
the  stage  (they  break  into  the  rhythm,  six-eight). 
What  majestic  grief!  it  touches  the  hearts  of  the 
most  frivolous  of  beings.  Is  it  not  the  melody  of  re- 
pressed genius?" 

To  Andrea's  great  astonishment  (Marianna  was  ac- 
customed to  it)  Gambara  contracted  his  throat  so  vio- 
lently that  choking  sounds  broke  forth,  something  like 
those  of  a  growling  watch-dog.  A  light  froth  whitened 
the  composer's  lips  and  made  Andrea  shudder. 

"His  wife  appears  (a  minor).  Magnificent  duet! 
In  this  piece  I  show  that  Mohammed  possessed  will, 
and  his  wife  intellect.  Khadijah  announces  that  she  is 
about  to  undertake  a  work  which  will  bereave  her  of 
the  love  of  her  young  husband.  Mohammed  desires  to 
conquer  the  world  ;  his  wife  divines  his  purpose  ;  she 
seconds  it  by  persuading  the  people  of  Mecca  that  her 
husband's  attacks  of  epilepsy  are  the  result  of  his  com- 
merce with  angels.  Chorus  of  Mohammed's  first  dis- 
ciples, who  throng  to  promise  him  their  help  (c  sharp 
minor,  sotto  voce).  Mohammed  retires  to  speak  with 
the  Angel  Gabriel  (recitative  in  f  major).  His  wife 
encourages  the  chorus  (air,  accompanied  by  chorus ; 
gusts  of  voices  sustain  Khadijah's  grand  and  majestic 
song,  a  major).  Abdallah,  the  father  of  Ayeshah, 
the  only  maiden  whom  Mohammed  has  found  a  virgin, 


220 


Gambara. 


and  whose  name  the  prophet  changed  to  Abu-Bekr 
(father  of  the  virgin)  comes  forward  with  his  daughter ; 
their  voices  detach  themselves  from  the  chorus,  taking 
up  Khadijah's  air  and  sustaining  it  (in  counterpoint) . 
Omar,  father  of  Hafsah,  another  maiden  whom  Moham- 
med is  to  possess,  follows  the  example  of  Abu-Bekr  and 
approaches  with  his  daughter  to  form  a  quintette.  The 
virgin  Ayesbah  is  first  soprano  ;  Hafsah  second  soprano  ; 
Abu-Bekr  bass,  and  Omar  barytone.  Mohammed  re- 
enters, inspired.  He  sings  his  first  bravura  air,  which 
begins  the  finale  (e  major)  ;  he  promises  the  empire  of 
the  world  to  his  first  Believers.  The  prophet  beholds 
the  maidens,  and  by  a  soft  transition  (from  b  major  to 
g  major)  he  turns  to  amorous  phrases.  Ali,  Mohammed's 
cousin,  and  Khaled,  his  greatest  general,  both  tenors, 
appear  and  announce  the  persecution  ;  the  magistrates, 
soldiers,  and  magnates  have  banished  the  prophet  (reci- 
tative). Mohammed  invokes  the  Angel  Gabriel  (in  c), 
declares  that  the  angel  is  with  him,  and  points  to  a 
pigeon  circling  above  his  head.  The  chorus  of  Believ- 
ers answer  in  tones  of  devotion  on  a  modulation  in  b 
major.  The  soldiers,  magistrates,  and  magnates  arrive 
(tempo  di  marcia,  b  major).  Struggle  between  the 
two  choruses  (strette  in  e  major).  Mohammed  (by  a 
succession  of  diminished  and  descending  sevenths)  yields 
to  the  storm  and  takes  to  flight.  The  sombre  and  sav- 
age color  of  this  finale  is  flecked  by  the  themes  of  the 
three  women,  who  predict  Mohammed's  triumph  ;  these 
phrases  will  be  found  developed  in  the  third  act,  where 
Mohammed  is  seen  to  enjoy  the  delights  of  grandeur." 


Grambara. 


221 


Tears  came  into  Gambara's  eyes,  then,  recovering 
from  his  momentary  emotion,  he  cried  out :  — 

"  Second  Act:  Behold  religion  instituted!  Arabs 
guard  the  tent  of  their  prophet,  who  confers  with  God 
(chorus  in  a  minor).   Mohammed  shows  himself  (prayer 
in  f).    What  brilliant  and  majestic  harmony  underlies 
this  chant,  in  which,  methinks,  I  have  pushed  back  the 
limits  of  melody !    Surely  I  was  bound  to  express  the 
marvels  of  that  great  uprising  and  outpouring  of  men 
who  created  a  music,  an  architecture,  a  poetry,  with 
customs,  manners,  and  morals  of  their  own.    As  you 
listen,  are  you  not  pacing  beneath  the  arches  of  the 
Generalife  and  through  the  gateways  of  the  Alhambra? 
The  fiorituri  of  the  melody  paint  the  exquisite  Moorish 
arabesques  of  the  architecture,  and  the  poesy  of  that 
warlike  and  gallant  religion  which  was  soon  to  meet  in 
arms  the  gallant  and  warlike  chivalry  of  the  Christians. 
A  few  brass  instruments  sound  the  first  notes  of  tri- 
umph (in  broken  cadence).    The  Arabs  fall  down  and 
worship  the  prophet  (e  flat  major).    Khaled,  Amrou, 
and  Ali  enter  (tempo  di  marcia).    The  armies  of  the 
Faithful  have  taken  the  cities  and  conquered  the  three 
Arabias !     Hear  that  sonorous  recitative !  Moham- 
med rewards  his  generals  by  giving  them  his  women.  — 
Here  comes  in,"  remarked  Gambara,  in  a  rueful  tone, 
"one  of  those  ignoble  ballets  which  cut  the  thread  of 
the  noblest  musical  tragedies.    But  Mohammed  (b  mi- 
nor) redeems  it  by  his  grand  prophecy,  which  that  poor 
Monsieur  de  Voltaire  describes  in  lines  beginning :  — 
'  Arabia's  day  has  come  at  last.' 


222 


Gambara. 


The  Arab  chorus  breaks  forth  triumphant  (allegretto 
six-eight).  The  clarions  and  the  other  wind  instru- 
ments reappear  with  the  tribes  who  flock  to  the  stand- 
ard. General  gala,  in  which  all  voices  take  up  the 
strain,  one  after  the  other,  and  Mohammed  proclaims 
Polygamy.  In  the  midst  of  these  rejoicings  the  woman 
who  has  done  so  much  for  Mohammed  stands  forth 
alone  in  a  glorious  melody  (b  major).  4  And  I,'  she 
asks,  'I,  ami  no  longer  loved?  '  'We  must  part,5  he 
answers.  '  Thou  art  a  woman,  I  am  a  prophet ;  I  may 
have  slaves,  I  can  no  longer  have  an  equal.'  Listen  to 
this  duet  (g  sharp  minor).  What  conflicts  of  soul! 
The  woman  comprehends  the  grandeur  to  which  her 
hands  have  raised  him  ;  she  loves  him  enough  to  sacri- 
fice herself  for  his  glory,  she  adores  him  as  a  God, 
without  judging  him,  without  murmuring.  Poor  woman, 
the  first  dupe  and  the  first  victim  !  What  a  theme  for 
the  finale  (b  major)  !  Behold  the  darkness  of  that 
grief  standing  out  upon  the  background  of  the  accla- 
mations of  the  Faithful  and  wedded  to  the  tones  of 
Mohammed,  who  flings  away  his  wife  as  a  useless  in- 
strument, and  yet  makes  us  see  that  he  can  never  forget 
her.  What  triumphant  rockets,  what  red  lights  of  rip- 
pling joyous  songs  spring  from  the  throats  (first  and 
second  soprano)  of  Ayeshah  and  Hafsah,  sustained  by 
Ali  and  his  wife  and  Omar  and  Abu-Bekr.  Weep,  weep, 
rejoice  !    Triumphs  and  tears  !  for  such  is  life." 

Marianna  could  not  restrain  her  sobs.  Andrea  was 
so  moved  that  his  eyes  grew  moist.  The  Neapolitan, 
shaken  by  the  magnetic  current  of  ideas  expressed  in 


Grambara. 


223 


the  spasmodic  tones  of  the  composer's  voice,  was  over- 
come with  emotion  like  the  others.  Gambara  turned, 
saw  the  group,  and  smiled. 

"  You  understand  me  at  last !  "  he  cried. 

No  general  led  in  triumph  to  the  Capitol,  amid  the 
purple  of  his  glory  and  the  acclamations  of  a  people, 
ever  looked  when  the  crown  was  placed  upon  his  head 
as  Gambara  now  looked.  His  face  shone  like  that  of  a 
sainted  martyr.  They  did  not  undeceive  him.  A 
dreadful  smile  flickered  on  Marian na's  lips.  The  count 
was  horror-stricken  at  such  blind  and  artless  insanity. 

kfc  Third  act,"  said  the  happy  composer,  seating  him- 
self again  at  the  piano:  "  (andantino  solo)  Mohammed 
unhappy  in  his  harem,  surrounded  by  women.  Quar- 
tette of  houris  (in  a  major).  What  splendor  !  hear  the 
songs  of  happy  nightingales!  Modulations  (f  sharp 
minor).  The  air  is  given  on  the  dominant  e  and  is 
then  taken  up  in  a  major.  Delights  cluster  visibly  to 
the  senses  to  produce  a  contrast  to  the  gloomy  finale  of 
.the  first  act.  After  the  dances  Mohammed  rises  and 
sings  a  grand  bravura  (f  minor),  regretting  the  single 
and  devoted  love  of  his  first  wife  and  avowing  himself 
a  victim  to  polygamy.  Never  did  musician  have  such 
a  theme.  The  orchestra  and  the  chorus  of  women  ex- 
press the  joys  of  houris,  while  Mohammed  reverts  to 
the  melancholy  in  which  the  opera  begins.  Where  is 
Beethoven?"  cried  Gambara  ;  "  where  is  that  soul  that 
could  understand  me  in  this  mighty  return  of  the  opera 
upon  itself.  See  how  everything  rests  upon  the  bass  ; 
that  is  how  Beethoven  constructed  his  symphony  in  c. 


224  Gambara. 

But  his  heroic  movement  is  purely  instrumental,  while 
mine  is  supported  by  a  sextet  of  glorious  human  voices 
and  by  a  chorus  of  Believers  who  guard  the  gate  of  the 
sacred  dwelling.  I  have  here  gathered  all  the  treasures 
of  melody  and  harmony,  vocal  and  orchestral.  Listen 
to  the  utterance  of  all  human  existence,  be  it  rich  or  be 
it  poor:  struggle,  triumph,  and  satiety.  Ali  enters; 
the  Koran  is  everywhere  triumphant  (duet  in  d  minor). 
Mohammed  places  himself  in  the  hands  of  his  two 
fathers-in-law  ;  he  is  weary  of  everything  ;  he  desires  to 
abdicate  and  die  secretly  to  consolidate  his  work  into  a 
religion.  Magnificent  sextet  (b  flat  major)  !  He  bids 
farewell  (solo  in  f  natural).  The  two  fathers,  appointed 
vicars  (caliphs) ,  call  the  people  together.  Grand  trium- 
phal march.  Prayer  of  the  Arabs  kneeling  before  the 
sacred  mansion  {Kasha),  whence  a  pigeon  takes  its 
flight  (same  key) .  This  prayer,  uttered  by  sixty  voices 
and  dominated  by  women  (in  b  flat),  crowns  my  stupen- 
dous work,  in  which  the  life  of  nations  and  of  man  has 
found  expression.  You  have  heard  all  emotions,  human 
and  divine." 

Andrea  gazed  at  Gambara  in  stupid  amazement.  If 
he  had  not  been  shocked  by  the  horrible  irony  which 
the  man  presented  as  he  pictured  the  feelings  of  the 
wife  of  Mohammed  without  perceiving  the  same  feelings 
in  Marianna,  the  madness  of  the  husband  might  have 
seemed  to  him  eclipsed  by  the  madness  of  the  composer. 
There  was  no  semblance  of  musical  or  poetical  ideas 
in  the  deafening  cacophony  which  afflicted  his  ears ;  the 
principles  of  harmony,  the  first  rules  of  composition, 


Gambara. 


225 


were  absolutely  wanting  in  this  formless  creation.  In- 
stead of  a  music  scientifically  wrought  out,  such  as 
Gambara  described,  his  fingers  produced  a  succession 
of  fifths,  sevenths,  and  octaves,  major  thirds  and  pro- 
cessions of  fourths  without  sixths  in  the  bass,  —  a 
jumble  of  discordant  sounds  flung  out  at  random  as 
though  combined  to  rend  the  ears  of  the  least  sensitive 
of  hearers.  It  is  difficult  to  express  this  extravagant 
piece  of  execution ;  new  words  must  be  coined  to  give 
an  idea  of  this  impossible  music. 

Painfully  affected  by  the  madness  of  so  fine  a  mind, 
Andrea  colored  and  glanced  furtively  at  Marianna,  who 
sat  with  lowered  eyes  and  pallid  cheeks,  unable  to  keep 
back  her  tears.  In  the  midst  of  the  hurly-burly  of  notes 
Gambara  gave  vent,  now  and  then,  to  exclamations 
that  revealed  the  rapture  of  his  soul ;  he  grew  faint  with 
gladness,  he  smiled  at  his  piano,  then  he  frowned  at 
it  in  anger  and  "  dragged  its  tongue  out"  (to  use  an 
expression  of  the  inspired)  ;  in  short,  he  seemed  intox- 
icated with  the  poetry  that  filled  his  heart  and  which  he 
vainly  sought  to  utter  in  his  music.  The  harrowing 
discords  which  jangled  beneath  his  fingers  evidently 
resounded  in  his  own  ears  like  celestial  harmonies.  Be- 
yond a  doubt,  the  vision  of  his  inspired  blue  eyes  opened 
on  another  world  ;  the  rosy  glow  that  warmed  his  cheeks, 
above  all,  the  divine  serenity  which  inspiration  cast 
upon  his  lofty  features  would  have  led  a  deaf  man  to 
suppose  he  was  present  at  the  improvisation  of  some 
great  master.  And  the  illusion  would  have  been  all  the 
more  perfect  because  the  execution  of  this  insensate 

15 


226  Gambara. 

music  required  a  marvellous  facility  in  fingering,  which 
Gambara  must  have  practised  for  many  years.  His 
hands  were  not  the  only  part  of  him  employed ;  the 
intricacies  of  the  pedals  put  his  whole  body  in  con- 
stant motion  ;  perspiration  streamed  from  his  face  as  he 
labored  to  swell  a  crescendo  by  all  the  feeble  means 
which  a  graceless  piano  lent  him ;  he  stamped,  he 
snorted,  he  roared  ;  his  fingers  darted  with  the  rapidity 
of  the  forked  tongue  of  a  snake ;  finally,  as  the  piano 
gave  out  its  last  howl,  he  threw  himself  backward  and 
let  fall  his  head  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 

''Per  Bacco!  I  am  stunned,  dizzy,"  cried  Andrea,, 
escaping  from  the  room.  44  A  child  jumping  on  the 
key-board  would  have  made  better  music." 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  Giardini,  following.  44  Chance 
could  n't  manage  to  avoid  the  harmony  of  two  notes 
as  that  devil  of  a  fellow  has  done  for  the  last  hour." 

"How  can  Marianna's  features  remain  so  regular?" 
muttered  the  count;  "they  must  change  under  the 
perpetual  hearing  of  those  hideous  discords.  Marianna 
will  grow  "ugly." 

44  Signor  conte,  we  must  rescue  her  from  such  a 
danger  !  "  cried  Giardini. 

44  Yes,"  said  Andrea,  44 1  am  thinking  of  it.  But,  to 
make  sure  that  my  plans  are  not  built  on  sand,  I  must 
test  my  ideas  by  an  experiment.  I  shall  return  here 
to-morrow  to  examine  the  musical  instruments  he  has 
invented,  and  at  night  we  will  have  a  little  supper,  —  a 
medianoche.    I  s\\  send  the  wine  and  the  good  things." 

The  cook  bowed  low.    The  count  spent  the  next  day 


Gambara. 


227 


in  arranging  an  apartment  for  the  poor  household.  At 
night  he  went  back  to  the  rue  Froidmanteau  and  found 
the  cakes  and  wine  set  out  by  Marianna  and  Giardini 
with  a  certain  daintiness.  Gambara  showed  him  tri- 
umphantly a  number  of  little  drums,  on  which  lay  grains 
of  powder,  by  the  help  of  which  he  made  observations 
on  the  different  natures  of  the  sounds  emitted  by  his 
instruments. 

Do  you  see/'  he  said,  "  by  what  simple  means  I  am 
able  to  prove  a  great  proposition?  In  this  way  acous- 
tics reveal  actions  analogous  to  sound  on  all  the  objects 
which  sound  affects.  All  harmonies  start  from  a  com- 
mon centre  and  retain  an  intimate  relation  to  each  other  ; 
or  rather,  harmony,  which  is  One,  like  light,  is  decom- 
posed by  our  art  as  a  ray  is  by  a  prism." 

Gambara  proceeded  to  show  Andrea  the  instruments 
constructed  according  to  his  laws,  explaining  the  changes 
he  had  made  in  their  form  and  fabric.  He  finally  an- 
nounced, not  without  solemnit^v,  that  he  should  crown 
this  preliminary  evening,  which  so  far  had  only  satis- 
fied the  curiosity  of  the  eye,  by  letting  all  present  hear 
an  instrument  which  was  able  to  fill  the  place  of  an 
entire  orchestra,  to  which  he  had  given  the  name  of 
panharmonicon. 

"  If  it  is  that  thing  in  this  cage  which  makes  all  the 
neighbors  grumble,"  said  Giardini,  u  you  won't  play 
long,  for  the  police  will  be  after  you." 

4tIf  that  poor  crazy  creature  stays  here,"  whispered 
Gambara  in  the  count's  ear,  "  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  to  play." 


228 


Gambara. 


The  count  got  rid  of  the  cook  by  promising  him  a 
reward  if  he  would  stay  downstairs  and  prevent  the 
neighbors  and  the  patrol  from  interfering.  Giardini, 
who  had  not  spared  the  wine  in  his  own  behalf  while 
pouring  it  out  for  Gambara,  consented.  The  composer, 
though  not  intoxicated,  was  in  that  state  where  all  the 
intellectual  forces  are  highly  excited,  — where  the  walls 
of  the  room  are  luminous,  the  garret  has  no  roof,  and 
the  soul  flutters  out  into  a  world  of  spirits.  Marianna 
uncovered,  not  without  some  trouble,  an  instrument 
about  as  large  as  a  grand  piano,  with  an  additional 
upper  key-board.  This  singular  machine  was  also  fur- 
nished with  stops  for  various  wind-instruments,  and  the 
sharp  elbows  of  several  tubes. 

"  Will  you  play  to  me,  if  you  please,  the  prayer 
that  you  said  was  so  fine,  and  which  concludes  your 
opera?"  said  the  count. 

To  Andrea's  great  astonishment,  and  also  to  Mari- 
anna's,  Gambara  began  with  several  chords  of  perfect 
harmony ;  and  their  astonishment  was  succeeded  first 
by  admiration  mingled  with  surprise,  then  by  a  com- 
plete ecstasy  in  which  they  lost  sense  of  the  place  and 
man.  The  effects  of  an  orchestra  could  not  have  been 
finer  than  the  tones  of  the  wind  instruments,  which 
swelled  like  an  organ  and  blended  marvellously  with 
the  harmonious  richness  of  the  stringed  instruments. 
But  the  imperfect  state  of  this  singular  machine  hin- 
dered the  full  development  of  the  composer's  thought, 
which  was  felt  to  be  still  grander.  It  is  to  be  remarked 
that  a  certain  perfection  in  works  of  art  often  prevents 


Gambara. 


229 


the  soul  from  lifting  them  to  greater  heights.  The 
sketch  wins  the  clay  against  the  finished  picture  in  the 
judgment  of  those  who  are  able  to  fill  out  the  sketch 
by  thought  instead  of  seeing  it  completed.    The  purest 
and  sweetest  music  that  the  count  had  ever  heard  rose 
beneath  the  fingers  of  Gambara  like  incense  from  an 
altar.    The  voice  of  the  composer  became  youthful 
once  more  ;  far  from  injuring  the  rich  melody,  it  ex- 
plained, supported,  directed  it,  as  the  quivering,  yearn- 
ing voice  of  a  reader  like  Andrieux  enlarges  the  meaning 
of  some  fine  scene  of  Corneille  or  Racine  by  adding  its 
own  sympathetic  poetry.    This  music,  worthy  of  angels, 
revealed  treasures  in  the  vast  opera  which  could  never 
be  comprehended  so  long  as  this  man  persisted  in  try- 
ing to  explain  them  with  his  normal  reason.  Marianna 
and  the  count,  divided  between  delight  in  the  music 
and  surprise  at  the  strange  instrument  with  a  hun- 
dred voices,  in  which  a  stranger  might  fancy  a  choir  of 
young  girls  were  lying  concealed,  so  like  were  its  tones 
to  those  of  the  human  voice,  dared  not  interchange 
their  thoughts  either  by  word  or  look.  Marianna's 
face  was  lighted  by  a  glorious  gleam  of  hope,  which 
restored  the  splendor  of  her  youth.    This  new  birth  of 
beauty,  allied  to  the  luminous  apparition  of  her  hus- 
band's genius,  shaded  with  a  tinge  of  sadness  the 
delight  that  this  mysterious  hour  gave  the  count. 

"You  are  our  good  angel,"  Marianna  said  to  him. 
"  I  am  tempted  to  believe  that  you  inspire  him,  for  I, 
who  never  leave  him,  have  never  heard  him  express 
himself  like  that." 


230 


Gambara. 


"  Listen  to  Khadijah's  parting  song/'  cried  Gambara, 
singing  the  cavatina  which  the  night  before  he  had 
calied  sublime,  and  which  now  made  the  lovers  weep, 
so  perfectly  did  it  give  expression  to  the  highest  self- 
devotion  of  love. 

4i  Who  inspired  you  with  such  music  ?  "  cried  the  count. 

"The  Spirit,"  answered  Gambara.  "When  he  ap- 
pears, all  is  flame  about  me.  I  see  melodies  face  to 
face,  beautiful  and  fresh,  colored  like  the  flowers.  They 
sparkle,  they  echo,  and  I  listen  ;  but  it  needs  an  infin- 
itude of  time  to  reproduce  them." 

4  4  Play  on,"  said  Marianna. 

Gambara,  who  felt  no  fatigue,  played  without  effort 
or  extravagance.  He  executed  the  overture  with  such 
talent,  and  showed  such  new  and  undiscovered  wealth 
in  music,  that  the  count,  dazzled  by  what  he  heard, 
began  to  believe  in  a  magic  like  that  of  Listz  and  Paga- 
u[nl  —  the  magic  of  an  execution  which  can  change  the 
conditions  of  music  and  make  it  into  a  poetry  which 
transcends  all  musical  creations. 

"TVett,  Excellenza,  can  you  cure  him?"  asked  the 
cook,  when  Andrea  at  last  came  down. 

"  I  shall  soon  know,"  replied  the  count.  "  The  man's 
intellect  has  two  windows  :  one,  toward  the  world,  is 
closed  ;  the  other  opens  into  heaven.  The  first  is  mu- 
sic, the  second  is  poetry.  Until  to-day  he  has  stood 
obstinately  before  the  closed  window;  we  must  lead  him 
to  the  other.  You  were  the  first,  Giardini,  to  put  me 
on  the  track  of  this  truth,  when  you  told  me  that  his 
mind  was  clearer  after  he  had  drunk  a  little  wine." 


Gambara. 


231 


"Yes,"  said  the  cook;  "  and  I  guess  your  plan, 
Excellenza." 

"If  it  is  not  too  late  to  make  poetry  ring  in  his 
ears  to  the  harmonies  of  a  glorious  music,  he  must  be 
put  in  a  state  to  hear  it  and  judge  of  it.  Now  it  seems 
that  to  intoxicate  him  is  the  only  way  to  bring  this 
about.  Will  you  help  me  to  manage  it,  my  dear  fellow  ? 
—  but  won't  it  injure  you?" 

"  What  does  Vossignoria  mean  by  that?  " 

Andrea  made  no  reply,  but  went  off  laughing  at  the 
perspicacity  of  the  Neapolitan's  crazy  brain. 

The  next  day  Marcosini  came  to  fetch  Marianna  and 
show  her  the  apartment  he  had  provided.  She  had 
spent  the  morning  in  preparing  a  simple  but  suitable 
dress,  into  which  she  put  all  her  savings.  The  change 
might  have  dissipated  the  illusions  of  a  sated  man  of 
the  world,  but  the  count's  fancy  had  now  become  a  pas- 
sion. Stripped  of  her  poetic  poverty  and  transformed 
outwardly  into  an  ordinary  bourgeoise,  Marianna  now 
made  him  dream  of  marriage  ;  he  gave  her  his  hand 
as  he  placed  her  in  a  hackney-coach  and  imparted  his 
projects.  She  smiled  and  approved,  happy  in  finding 
him  more  generous,  more  disinterested,  nobler  than  she 
had  hoped.  They  reached  the  new  apartment,  where 
Andrea  had  sought  to  keep  himself  present  to  her  mind 
by  adding  a  few  of  those  elegancies  which  beguile  the 
hearts  of  the  most  virtuous  women. 

"  I  will  not  speak  to  you  of  my  love  until  you  de- 
spair of  Paolo's  sanity,"  he  said  to  her  as  they  returned 
to  the  rue  Froidmanteau.   "  You  shall  be  witness  to  the 


232 


Grcimhara. 


sincerity  of  m}<  efforts.  If  they  succeed,  perhaps  I  ma}- 
not  be  able  to  endure  the  part  of  friend.  If  so,  I  shall 
flee  from  you,  Marianna.  I  am  conscious  of  sufficient 
courage  to  work  for  your  happiness,  but  I  may  not  have 
enough  to  look  upon  it." 

u  Do  not  say  such  things,"  said  Marianna,  hardly 
able  to  restrain  her  tears.  u  Has  generosity  its  dan- 
gers also?    What,  must  you  leave  me  so  soon?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Andrea.  "  Seek  your  happiness  with- 
out interruption  from  me." 

If  G  iarclini  was  to  be  believed,  the  healthful  change  of 
air  and  living  wras  favorable  to  both  husband  and  wife. 
Every  evening,  after  drinking  wine,  Gambara  seemed 
less  absent-minded,  talked  more,  and  with  more  sedate- 
ness.  He  even  proposed  to  read  the  newspapers.  An- 
drea could  not  restrain  a  shudder  every  time  he  saw 
some  unhoped-for  evidence  of  his  success ;  but  although 
these  pangs  revealed  to  him  the  strength  of  his  love, 
they  did  not  lead  him  to  waver  in  his  virtuous  resolu- 
tion. He  came  every  evening  to  watch  the  progress  of 
the  singular  cure,  and  to  take  part  in  conversations, 
grave  or  ga}T,  in  which  he  opposed  Gambara's  singular 
theories  with  clearness  and  moderation.  He  put  to  use 
the  marvellous  lucidity  of  the  latter's  mind,  on  all  points 
that  did  not  touch  upon  his  madness,  to  make  him  per- 
ceive and  admit  principles  in  other  branches  of  art 
which  he  meant  to  show  him,  later,  were  equally  appli- 
cable to  music.  All  went  well  so  long  as  the  fumes  of 
wTine  excited  the  patient's  brain ;  but  so  soon  as  he  was 


Gambara. 


233 


perfectly  sober  his  reason  disappeared  and  his  mania 
revived.    Nevertheless,  in  the  main,  Paolo  allowed  him- 
self to  be  more  easily  roused  by  impressions  from  the 
outside,  and  his  mind  began  to  employ  itself  on  a  greater 
number  of  things  about  him.    Andrea,  who  t^ok  an  ar- 
tist's interest  in  his  semi-medical  work,  thought  at  last 
that  it  was  time  to  attempt  a  master-stroke.    He  re- 
solved to  give  a  dinner  at  his  own  house,  to  which  Giar- 
dini  should  be  admitted  (according  to  his  fancy  for  not 
separating  the  sublime  from  the  ridiculous),  and  he 
selected  the  day  when  "  Robert  le  Diable,"  an  opera  he 
had  already  heard  rehearsed,  was  given  for  the  first  time 
in  public.    After  the  second  course,  Gambara,  semi- 
intoxicated,  was  laughing  at  his  theories  with  ready 
grace,  while  Giardini  declared  that  his  culinary  inno- 
vations were  of  the  devil.    Andrea  had  neglected  no 
means  to  bring  about  this  double  miracle.    Flasks  of 
Orvieto  and  Moritefiascone,   precious  wines  brought 
with  all  the  care  that  is  needed  for  their  safe  transport, 
Lachrymse  Christi,  and  Giro,  and  other  hot  wines  of  la 
cava  patria,  soon  brought  these  excitable  brains  to 
the  double  intoxication  of  the  grape  and  memory.  At 
desert,  the  cook  and  the  composer  mutually  and  gayly 
abjured  their  errors  ;  one  hummed  a  melody  of  Rossini, 
the  other  piled  confectionery  on  his  plate  and  drenched 
it  with  maraschino,  in  honor  of  French  cookery.  The 
count  took  advantage  of  Gambara's  happy  frame  of 
mind  and  carried  him  to  the  opera,  whither  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  taken  with  the  gentleness  of  a  lamb. 
At  the  first  notes  of  the  introduction  Gambara's  ine- 


234 


Gambara. 


briety  seemed  to  vanish,  giving  place  to  the  exalta- 
tion which  brought  at  times  into  harmony  his  judgment 
and  his  imagination  ;  the  habitual  discord  of  which  was, 
no  doubt,  the  cause  of  his  insanity.  The  dominant 
thought  of  the  great  musical  drama  appeared  to  him  in 
all  its  dazzling  simplicity,  like  a  lightning  flash  break- 
ing through  the  clouds  of  darkness  in  which  he  lived. 
To  his  now  unsealed  eyes  the  music  seemed  to  mark 
the  immense  horizons  of  a  world  wrhere  he  found  him- 
self for  the  first  time  ;  though  he  recognized  conditions 
already  seen  by  him  in  dreams,  He  fancied  he  was 
transported  to  those  slopes  of  his  own  dear  country 
where  la  bella  Italia  begins,  and  which  Napoleon  so 
appropriately  named  the  4 ;  glacis  of  the  Alps."  As 
memory  took  him  back  to  the  days  when  his  young  and 
vigorous  reason  was  not  yet  disturbed  by  the  ecstasy  of 
his  too  rich  imagination,  he  listened  in  a  reverential 
attitude,  unwilling  to  utter  a  single  word.  The  count 
refrained  from  interfering  with  the  inward  workings  of 
that  soul.  Till  past  midnight  Gambara  sat  so  motion- 
less that  the  audience  might  have  taken  him  for  wThat 
he  was,  —  a  drunken  man.  On  the  wTay  home  the 
count  began  to  attack  Meyerbeer's  masterpiece,  for  the 
purpose  of  rousing  Gambara,  who  was  now  plunged  in 
the  torpid  half-sleep  of  inebriation. 

"  What  is  there  so  magnetic  in  that  incoherent  com- 
position that  it  can  make  a  somnambulist  of  you?  "  said 
Andrea,  when  they  reached  the  house.  4 4  The  subject 
of  4  Robert  le  Diable '  is  not  without  interest,  I  admit ; 
Holtei  has  developed  it  very  happily  in  a  well -written 


Grambara. 


235 


drama  full  of  strong  and  moving  situations  ;  but  the 
French  authors  have  contrived  to  make  it  the  most 
ridiculous  fable  in  existence.    No  libretto  absurdity  of 
Vesari  or  Schikaneder  ever  equalled  that  of  the  opera  of 
<  Robert  le  Diable,'  —  a  dramatic  nightmare,  which  op- 
presses the  spectator  without  rousing  him  to,  any  deep 
emotions.     Meyerbeer's  clevil  plays  too  good  a  part. 
Bertram  and  Alice  represent  the  struggle  between  light 
and  darkness,  — the  good  and  evil  principle.    That  an- 
tagonism presents  the  finest  of  all  contrasts  to  a  com- 
poser.   The  sweetest  melodies  placed  side  by  side  with 
harsh  and  cruel  songs  were  the  natural  consequence  of 
the  libretto  form  ;  unfortunately,  in  the  German  com- 
poser's score  the  devils  sing  better  than  the  saints, 
The  celestial  inspirations  frequently  fall  short  of  their 
origin,  and  if  the  composer  leaves  the  infernal  lines  for  a 
moment,  he  hastens  to  return,  weary  with  the  effort  he 
has  made  to  abandon  them.   Melody,  the  golden  thread 
that  should  never  be  broken  in  so  vast  a  composition, 
is  often  lacking  in  Meyerbeer's  work.    Sentiment  there 
is  none  ;  the  heart  plays  no  part  at  all ;  and  we  find 
few  of  those  delightful  themes,  those  artless  songs 
which  touch  all  sympathies  and  leave  a  tender  impres- 
sion on  the  soul.    Harmony  reigns  supreme,  instead  of 
being  a  basis  or  background  from  which  the  groups  of 
the  musical  picture  should  detach  themselves.  Those 
discordant  chords,  far  from  touching  the  spectator, 
only  excite  his  soul  to  a  sentiment  analogous  to  that 
which  he  feels  at  the  sight  of  a  tight-rope  walker  sus- 
pended between  life  and  death.    The  charming  songs 


236 


Gambara. 


never  come  at  the  right  moment  to  soothe  these  ner- 
vous sensations.  One  would  really  believe  that  the 
composer  had  no  other  object  than  to  appear  fantastic : 
he  seizes  upon  ever}^  excuse  to  produce  an  eccentric 
effect  without  troubling  himself  about  truth,  or  musi- 
cal unity,  or  the  inefficiency  of  the  voices,  which  are 
drowned  in  the  instrumental  hurly-burly.' V 

"Hush,  hush,  my  friend,"  said  Gambara ;  "I  am 
still  under  the  enchantment  of  that  wonderful  song  of 
hell,  which  the  trumpets  render  still  more  terrible, — 
a  new  instrumentation  !  The  broken  cadences  which 
give  such  vigor  to  Robert's  song,  the  cavatina  in  the 
fourth  act,  the  finale  of  the  first,  still  hold  me  under  the 
spell  of  some  superhuman  power.  No,  the  composi- 
tion of  Gliick  himself  never  produced  such  a  powerful 
effect ;  I  am  amazed  at  so  much  science." 

"  Signor  maestro"  said  Andrea,  smiling,  "permit 
me  to  contradict  you.  Before  Gliick  wrote  he  reflected 
long.  He  calculated  all  chances,  and  selected  plans 
which  could  be  modified  later  under  his  inspirations  of 
detail ;  but  he  never  allowed  himself  to  stray  from  his 
self-appointed  path.  There  lies  the  secret  of  his  vigo- 
rous accentuation,  that  musical  elocution  which  throbs 
with  truth.  I  agree  with  you  that  the  science  of  Mey- 
erbeer's  opera  is  very  great ;  but  science  becomes  a 
defect  when  it  isolates  itself  from  inspiration  ;  and  I 
think  I  perceive  in  that  work  the  weary  toil  of  an 
ingenious  mind  which  culled  its  music  from  many  an 
opera  rejected  or  forgotten, — appropriating  their  themes, 
enlarging,  remodelling,  concentrating  them.    But  there 


Gambara. 


237 


happened  to  him,  as  to  all  imitators,  the  misfortune  of 
abusing  good  things.  This  clever  gleaner  in  musical 
harvest-fields  is  prodigal  of  discords,  which,  becoming 
too  frequent,  end  by  annoying  the  ear,  and  habituating 
it  to  startling  effects  which  a  composer  should  be  chary 
of  giving,  so  as  to  bring  out  their  full  value  when  the 
situation  demands  it.  These  enharmonic  transitions 
are  repeated  to  satiety,  and  the  abuse  of  the  plagal 
cadence  takes  a  great  deal  from  the  religious  solemnity 
of  the  piece.  I  know  very  well  that  every  composer 
has  his  own  particular  forms,  to  which  he  returns  again 
and  again  in  spite  of  himself;  but  he  ought  to  watch 
himself  and  guard  against  this  defect.  A  picture  that 
had  none  but  blues  and  reds  in  it  would  be  very  far 
from  truth,  and  fatiguing  to  the  eye.  Thus  the  almost 
uniform  rhythm  of  the  different  parts  of  '  Robert '  gives 
monotony  to  the  whole  score.  As  to  the  effect  of 
the  trumpets,  of  which  you  speak,  it  has  long  been 
known  in  Germany,  and  what  Meyerbeer  gives  us  for 
new  was  employed  by  Mozart,  who  made  his  chorus  of 
devils  in  4  Don  Giovanni '  sing  in  that  way." 

Andrea  tried  to  make  Gambara  refute  him  and  so  re- 
turn to  his  true  musical  sentiments  ;  all  the  while  lead- 
ing him  to  further  libations,  and  endeavoring  to  show 
him  that  his  inspired  mission  in  this  world  was  not  to 
regenerate  an  art  that  was  beyond  his  faculties,  but  to 
seek  expression  for  his  thought  under  another  form, 
which  was  in  fact  poetry. 

"  You  don't  understand  that  great  musical  drama,  my 
dear  count,"  said  Gambara,  carelessly.  He  stood  a  mo- 


238 


Grambara. 


ment  before  Andrea's  piano,  tried  the  notes,  listened  to 
their  tone,  seated  himself,  and  appeared  to  be  thinking 
for  some  minutes  as  if  to  collect  his  own  ideas. 

"  In  the  first  place  you  must  know,"  he  said,  tf  that  a 
trained  ear  like  mine  perceives  at  once  the  adaptations 
of  which  you  speak.  Yes,  this  music  is  selected  with 
love  from  the  treasures  of  a  rich  and  fruitful  imagination 
into  which  science  has  pressed  ideas  which  issue  from  it 
in  pure  musical  essence.    I'll  explain  it  to  you." 

He  rose  to  move  the  wax-lights  into  the  adjoining 
room  and  before  returning  to  his  seat  drank  a  large 
glass  of  Giro,  that  Sardinian  wine  which  contains  as 
much  fire  as  any  old  Toka}'  ever  lighted. 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  Gambara,  4 4  this  music  was  not 
written  for  sceptics  nor  for  those  who  cannot  love.  If 
you  never  in  your  life  experienced  the  vigorous  assaults 
of  an  evil  spirit  who  obscures  the  purpose  for  which 
you  are  aiming,  who  brings  a  painful  end  to  the  noblest 
hopes, — in  a  word,  if  you  have  never  seen  the  devil's  tail 
whisking  about  this  world,  —  the  opera  of  '  Robert  le 
Diable '  is  to  you  what  the  Apocalypse  is  to  those  who 
think  that  everything  ends  when  they  do.  But  if,  per- 
secuted and  unhappy,  you  comprehend  the  Spirit  of 
Evil,  that  great  ape  which  hourly  destroys  the  works  of 
God  ;  if  you  imagine  him  as  not  having  loved  but 
violated  an  almost  divine  woman,  gaining  from  that 
deed  the  joys  of  paternity  to  the  extent  of  preferring  to 
have  his  son  eternally  miserable  with  him  rather  than 
see  him  eternally  happy  with  God  ;  if  you  imagine  the 
soul  of  the  mother  hovering  around  her  son  to  draw  him 


Gambara. 


239 


from  the  horrible  temptations  of  his  father,  3-011  will 
even  then  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  that  vast  poem  to 
which  little  is  wanting  to  make  it  the  rival  of  Mozart's 
'Don  Giovanni.'  4  Don  Giovanni'  is  superior,  I  ad- 
mit, through  the  perfection  of  its  form.  '  Robert  le 
Diable*  represents  ideas;  4  Don  Giovanni'  excites 
sensations.  4  Don  Giovanni'  is  still  the  only  musical 
work  in  which  harmony  and  melody  are  in  exactly  equal 
proportions.  In  that  alone  lies  the  secret  of  its  supe- 
riority to  4  Robert/  for  4  Robert '  is  more  teeming. 
But  what  is  the  good  of  these  comparisons,  since  both 
works  are  beautiful  with  their  own  beauty?  To  me, 
who  have  groaned  under  the  reiterated  assaults  of  the 
Evil  One,  4  Robert'  speaks  more  vigorously  than  to 
you  ;  I  find  it  both  vast  and  concentrated.  Truly, 
thanks  to  you,  I  have  just  inhabited  the  world  of 
dreams  where  our  senses  are  magnified,  where  the 
universe  unfolds  in  gigantic  proportions  in  comparison 
with  man."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  4t  I  still 
quiver,"  continued  the  unhappy  artist,  44  at  the  sound  of 
those  four  bars  with  the  timbals  which  shook  my  very 
being  when  they  opened  the  short,  abrupt  introduction 
where  the  trombone  solo,  the  flutes,  the  hautboys,  and 
the  clarionet  cast  a  fantastic  color  into  the  soul.  That 
andante  in  c  minor  foreshadows  the  theme  of  the  invo- 
cation of  souls  in  the  abbey ;  magnifying  that  scene 
by  its  announcement  of  a  purely  spiritual  struggle.  I 
shuddered  !  " 

Gambara  struck  the  notes  with  a  firm  hand  and  de- 
veloped Meyerbeer's  passage  in  a  masterly  manner  with 


240 


Gramhara. 


a  sort  of  explosion  of  soul  characteristic  of  Liszt.  The 
instrument  was  no  longer  a  piano,  it  was  an  orchestra 
—  the  genius  of  music  was  evoked. 

That  is  Mozart's  style/'  he  cried.  "  Hear  how  this 
German  handles  chords,  by  what  learned  modulations 
he  leads  through  terror  to  the  dominant  of  c.  I  hear 
Hell !  The  curtain  rises.  What  do  I  behold?  the  only 
spectacle  to  which  we  can  give  the  epithet  infernal ;  an 
org}'  of  knights  in  Sicily.  The  chorus  in  f  contains  all 
human  passions  let  loose  in  that  Bacchic  allegro.  Every 
thread  b}'  which  the  devil  leads  us  is  shaken.  That  is 
the  sort  of  joy  which  seizes  men  when  they  dance  on  the 
brink  of  an  abyss  ;  they  whirl  themselves  into  vertigo. 
What  movement  in  the  chorus  !  From  it  the  reality  of 
life,  an  artless  bourgeois  life,  stands  out  (g  minor)  in 
Raimbaud's  song,  which  is  full  of  simplicity.  That 
worthy  man,  expressing  the  green  plenteousness  of 
NormaiKry,  refreshes  my  soul  as  he  recalls  it  to  the 
drunken  Robert.  The  sweetness  of  that  loved  land 
shines  like  a  golden  thread  through  the  darkness  of  the 
scene.  Now  comes  the  marvellous  ballad  in  c  major, 
accompanied  by  the  chorus  in  c  minor  which  tells  the 
stor\-  admirably.  Then  bursts  forth  6  Robert  am  I ! ' 
The  fuiy  of  the  prince  offended  by  his  vassal  is  no 
longer  a  natural  fury ;  but  soon  it  calms  down,  for 
memories  of  childhood  return  with  Alice  in  the  allegro 
(a  major)  so  full  of  movement  and  grace.  Do  you  hear 
the  cries  of  innocence  persecuted  alreacry  as  it  enters 
the  infernal  drama?  4  No,  no  !'  "  sang  Gambara,  mak- 
ing the  piano  echo  him.     4  4  His  native  land  and  all  its 


Gambara, 


241 


memories  bloom  once  more  in  Robert's  heart, —  the 
shade  of  his  mother  rises,  attended  by  soothing  relig- 
ious thoughts.  Religion  inspires  that  beautiful  ballad  in 
e  major  where  we  find  a  miraculous  progression  of  har- 
mony and  melody  on  the  words  :  —  , 

,         "  For  in  the  skies  as  on  the  earth 
His  mother  prayeth  f or  him." 

The  struggle  begins  between  the  mysterious  Powers 
and  the  sole  man  who  has  in  his  veins  the  fire  of  hell  to 
resist  them.  And,  that  you  may  fully  understand  it, 
listen  to  the  entrance  of  Bertram,  which  the  great  musi- 
cian covers  with  an  orchestral  ritornello  recalling  Raim- 
baut's  ballad.  What  art !  what  linking  of  all  the  parts  ! 
what  powers  of  construction  !  The  devil  is  beneath  all ; 
he  hides,  he  wriggles.  With  the  terror  of  Alice,  who 
recognizes  the  devil  of  the  Saint  Michel  in  her  own 
Norman  village,  the  combat  of  the  two  principles  be- 
gins. The  musical  theme  develops  —  with  what  varied 
phases  !  Here  comes  in  the  antagonism  of  parts,  so  ne- 
cessary to  every  opera,  shown  in  a  noble  recitative  (such 
as  Gliick  composed)  between  Bertram  and  Robert :  — 

"  Thou  wilt  never  know  to  what  excess  I  love  thee." 
That  diabolical  c  minor,  that  terrible  bass  of  Bertram 
which  countermines  and  destroys  every  effort  of  the 
man  of  violent  temperament,  — to  me  it  is  all  startling, 
terrifying.  Must  crime  have  its  criminal,  the  execu- 
tioner his  prey?  Must  misfortune  swallow  up  an  art- 
ist's genius?  Must  disease  kill  its  victim?  Can  the 
guardian  angel  protect  and  preserve  the  Christian? 

16 


242 


Gambara. 


Here  is  the  finale.  —  the  gambling  scene  where  Bertram 
torments  his  son  and  drives  him  to  terrible  emotions. 
Robert,  despoiled,  angry,  destroying  everything  about 
him.  desirous  of  killing,  of  breathing  fire  and  slaughter, 
seems  to  him  indeed  his  son  ;  the  father  sees  the  like- 
ness.  What  atrocious  gayety  in  Bertram's  words,  :  I 
laugh  at  thy  blows  '  !  How  the  Venetian  barcarole  tints 
this  finale  !  By  what  bold  transitions  thai  infamous  pa- 
ternity  returns  upon  the  scene  to  drag  Robert  to  the 
gambling-table  !  This  opening  of  the  opera  is  over- 
whelming to  those  who  follow  out  such  themes  in  the 
depths  of  their  hearts,  giving  them  the  full  meaning 
which  the  composer  intended  to  convey.  Love  alone 
could  oppose  that  grand  symphony  of  voices  in  which 
you  will  find  no  monotony  nor  the  employment  of  the 
same  means  :  it  is  a  unit  and  yet  varied,  —  the  charac- 
ter of  all  that  is  grand  and  natural.  I  breathe  freer  ; 
I  reach  the  higher  sphere  of  a  chivalrous  court ;  I  hear 
the  fresh  and  sweet,  yet  slightly  melancholy  phrases  of 
Isabelle  and  the  chorus  of  women  in  two  sections  echoing 
each  other,  reminding  us.  it  may  be.  of  the  Moorish  in- 
fluence on  Spain.  Here  the  terrible  music  is  softened  by 
mellow  tones,  like  a  tempest  calming  down,  till  it  comes 
to  this  dainty  flowery  duet,  so  well  modulated  and  not 
in  the  least  like  the  preceding  music.  After  the  uproar 
of  the  camp  of  martial  heroes  and  adventurers,  comes  a 
picture  of  love.  I  thank  thee,  poet !  My  heart  could 
have  borne  no  more.  If  those  daisies  of  light  opera 
did  not  blossom  for  my  gathering,  if  I  had  not  listened 
to  the  sweet  gayety  of  the  woman  who  loves  and  who 


Gambara. 


243 


consoles,  I  could  not  have  borne  the  awful  note  with 
which  Bertram  reappears,  warning  his  son  (as  he  hears 
him  promise  the  adored  princess  that  he  will  conquer 
with  the  arms  she  gives  him),  «  If  I  permit  it ! '  To 
the  hope  of  the  gambler  reforming  through  love,  the 
love  of  that  exquisite  Sicilian  (do  you  not  see  her, 
with  her  falcon  eye?),  to  the  hope  of  the  man,  Hell 
answers  in  that  awful  cry:   'Robert  of  Normandy, 
beware  ! 3    Do  you  not  admire  the  sombre  horror  of 
those  long,  splendid  notes,  'In  the  nigh  forest'?  All 
the  fascination  of  '  Jerusalem  Delivered 3  is  in  them, 
just  as  Chivalry  appears  in  that  chorus  with  the  Span- 
ish movement,  and  in  the  tempo  di  marcict.  What 
originality  in  that  allegro  ;  in  the  modulations  of  the 
four  attuned  timbals  (c  d,  c  g).     What  grace  in  the 
call  to  the  tournament!    The  movement,  the  impulse 
of  the  heroic  life  of  the  period  is  there  ;  the  soul  unites 
with  it ;  I  read  a  romance  of  chivalry  and  a  poem. 
The  exposition  ends  ;  the  resources  of  the  art  of  music 
seem  exhausted  ;  you  have  heard  nothing  like  it ;  and 
yet  all  was  homogeneous.    You  have  seen  human  life 
in  its  one  and  only  real  aspect :  '  Shall  I  be  happy  or 
unhappy?'  ask  the  philosophers;  'Shall  I  be  saved 
or  damned?'  say  the  Christians." 

Here  Gambara  paused  on  the  last  notes  of  the  chorus, 
which  he  drew  forth  in  a  lingering,  melancholy  way ; 
then  he  rose  to  pour  out  and  drink  another  large  glass  of 
Giro.  That  semi-African  wine  lit  up  once  more  the  in- 
candescence  of  his  face  which  the  passionate  and  marvel- 
lous execution  of  Meyerbeer's  opera  had  slightly  paled. 


244 


Gambara. 


u  That  nothing  be  lacking  to  the  composition, "  he 
resumed,  "  the  great  artist  has  freety  given  us  the  only 
burlesque  song  which  a  devil  could  allow  himself  to 
sing,  that  of  the  temptation  of  a  poor  troubadour.  He 
puts  horror  and  a  jest  side  by  side,  a  jest  which  swal- 
lows up  the  only  reality  that  appears  in  the  weird 
opera  ;  namel}^  the  pure  and  tranquil  loves  of  Alice 
and  of  Raimbaut ;  their  life  is  to  be  troubled  by  an- 
ticipated vengeance.  Great  souls  alone  can  feel  the 
nobility  that  animates  these  comic  airs.  They  have 
neither  the  gaudiness  of  our  Italian  music  nor  the  vul- 
garity of  Parisian  street  favorites.  The  majesty  of 
Olympus  lingers  near  them.  The  bitter  laugh  of  a 
divinity  contrasts  with  the  surprise  of  a  troubadour 
Don-Juanized.  Without  this  touch  of  grandeur  the 
return  to  the  general  tone  of  the  opera  would  be  too 
abrupt,  full  as  it  is  of  dreadful  rage,  in  diminished 
sevenths  ending  in  that  infernal  waltz  which  brings  us, 
finally,  face  to  face  with  devils.  With  what  vigor 
Bertram's  couplet  detaches  itself  (b  minor)  from  the 
Devil's  chorus,  depicting  paternal  despair  mingling 
with  demoniac  voices  !  What  an  exquisite  transition 
is  the  arrival  of  Alice  with  the  ritornello  in  b  fiat !  I 
still  hear  those  angelic  songs  of  heavenly  freshness, 
the  warble  of  the  nightingale  after  a  tempest.  The 
great  thought  of  the  whole  thus  permeates  details ; 
for  what  better  could  be  contrasted  with  this  writhing 
of  devils  in  their  den  than  the  marvellous  air  of 
Alice,  — 

'  When  I  forsook  my  Normandy! ' 


Gambara. 


245 


The  golden  thread  of  that  melody  runs  through  the 
whole  length  of  the  powerful  harmony  like  a  celestial 
hope,  embroidering  it,  —  and  with  what  wonderful  abil- 
ity !   Never  does  genius  lose  its  hold  on  the  science  that 
guides  it.    The  song  of  Alice  in  b  flat  is  caught  up 
and  linked  with  f  sharp,  the  dominant  of  the  infernal 
chorus.     Do  you  hear  the  tremolo  of  the  orchestra? 
Robert  is  bidden  to  the  symposium  of  devils.  Bertram 
re-enters,  and  here  is  the  culminating  point  of  musical 
interest,  a  recitative  comparable  only  to  the  grandest 
compositions  of  the  greatest  masters  ;  the  struggle  in 
e  flat  between  the  two  athletes,  Heaven  and  Hell,  — 
the  one  in  4  Yes,  thou  knowest  me  ! '  (on  a  diminished 
seventh)  ,  the  other  in  that  f  sublime  :  '  Heaven  is  with 
me  ! *    Hell  and  the  Cross  stand  face  to  face.  Then 
follow  Bertram's  threats  to  Alice,  the  most  awful  pa- 
thos in  existence  ;  the  Genius  of  Evil  revealing  itself 
complacently,   and  tempting,  as  ever,  through  self- 
interest.     The  entrance  of  Robert,  and  the  magnifi- 
cent trio  in  a  flat  without  accompaniment,  opens  the 
struggle  between  the  two  opposing  forces  for  posses- 
sion of  the  man.    See  how  clearly  this  is  produced,"- 
cried  Gambara,  reproducing  the  scene  with  a  passion- 
ate execution  which  thrilled  Andrea.    "All  this  ava- 
lanche of  music  from  the  four-time  of  the  timbals  has 
rolled  onward  to  this  struggle  of  the  three  voices. 
The  spell  of  Evil  triumphs.     Alice  flees  away.  You 
hear  the  duet  in  d  between  Bertram  and  Robert ;  the 
devil  drives  his  claws  into  Robert's  heart ;  he  rends  it, 
the  better  to  make  it  his  ;  he  summons  all  things  to 


246 


Gambara. 


his  aid ;  honor,  hope,  eternal  happiness,  all  are  made 
to  shine  in  Kobert's  eyes  ;  he  carries  him,  like  Jesus, 
to  the  pinnacle  of  the  Temple  and  shows  him  all  the 
treasures  of  the  earth,  that  jewel-case  of  Evil :  finally, 
he  piques  his  courage,  and  the  noble  feelings  of  the 
man  answer  forth  in  the  cry :  — 

"  To  the  knights  of  mine  own  land, 
Honor  was  ever  their  main-stay." 

Then,  to  crown  all,  comes  the  theme  that  so  fatally 
opened  the  opera ;  here  it  is,  the  leading  song  in  that 
magnificent  evocation  of  souls  :  — 

"  Nuns  who  sleep  beneath  that  frigid  stone, 
Hear  you  me?  " 

Gloriously  carried  through,  the  music  ends  gloriously 
by  the  allegro  vivace  of  the  bacchanal  in  d  minor. 
Hell  triumphs  !  Roll  on,  music  !  swathe  us  in  thy  many 
folds;  roll  on,  beguiling!  The  infernal  Powers  have 
seized  their  prey,  they  hold  him,  they  dance  about  him 
That  noble  genius,  born  to  vanquish  and  to  reign,  — 
behold  him  lost !  the  devils  are  joyful ;  poverty  stifles 
genius,  passion  destroys  the  knight." 

Here  Gambara  expanded  the  baechanale  himself, 
improvising  clever  variations  and  accompanying  the 
instrument  in  a  melodious  voice,  as  if  he  needed  to  give 
utterance  to  sufferings  he  had  felt, 

"Do  you  hear  the  celestial  plaints  of  neglected 
love?"  he  continued.  "  Isabelle  calls  Robert  from 
the  midst  of  that  great  chorus  of  knights  on  their  way 
to  the  tournament,  where  the  themes  of  the  second  act 


Gambara. 


247 


reappear  to  mark  distinctly  that  the  events  of  the  third 
act  happen  in  the  sphere  of  nature.    Real  life  is  felt. 
The  chorus  subsides  as  the  witcheries  of  Hell  approach, 
brought  by  Robert  with  the  talisman ;  the  wonders  of 
the  third  act  are  now  developed.    First  the  tenor-violin 
duet,  where  the  rhythm  shows  plainly  the  brutal  de- 
sires of  a  man  who  is  capable  of  all,  while  the  princess, 
with  plaintive  moans,  endeavors  to  recall  her  lover  to 
reason.    There,  the  musician  put  himself  in  a  position 
that  was  difficult  to  carry  through  ;  yet  he  mastered  it 
by  the  loveliest  thing  in  the  whole  work.    What  exqui- 
site melody  in  the  cavatina,  '  Mercy  for  thee  !  '  That 
piece  alone  would  make  the  fame  of  the  opera,  for 
every  woman  fancies  herself  contending  with  a  knight. 
Never  was  music  so  passionate  nor  so  dramatic.  The 
whole  world  now  turns  against  the  reprobate,    It  may 
be  objected  that  this  finale  is  like  that  of  '  Don  Gio- 
vanni ; '  but  there  is  this  enormous  difference  :  a  noble 
faith  inspires  Isabelle,  a  perfect  love  able  to  rescue 
Robert,  who  disdainfully  casts  back  the  devilish  talis- 
man confided  to  him,  while  Don  Giovanni,  on  the  other 
hand,  persists  in  his  unbelief.    Besides,  this  accusation 
has  been  made  against  all  composers  who  have  written 
finales  since  the  days  of  Mozart.    The  finale  of  <  Don 
Giovanni'  is  one  of  those  classic  forms  which  are  writ- 
ten for  all  time.    At  last  we  hear  Religion,  rising  om- 
nipotent with  a  voice  that  rules  the  universe,  calling  all 
sorrows  to  console  them,  all  repentances  to  give  them 
peace.    The  whole  audience  is  stirred  by  the  accents 
of  that  chorus  :  — 


248 


Gambara. 


"  Wretched  or  guilty  men, 
Hasten,  approach !  '* 

Hitherto,  in  the  awful  tumult  of  unchained  passions, 
the  sacred  voice  has  not  been  heard  ;  but  at  this  criti- 
cal moment  it  sounds,  the  divine  Church  rises  efful- 
gent. I  am  astonished  to  find  here  at  the  close  of 
such  harmonic  treasures  a  new  vein  of  wealth  in  that 
fine  masterpiece,  4  Glory  to  Providence ! '  written  in 
Handel's  manner.  Robert  enters,  distracted,  rending 
our  souls  with  his,  '  Would  I  could  pray  ! '  Constrained 
by  the  edict  of  hell,  Bertram  pursues  his  son  and  makes 
a  last  effort.  Alice  reveals  the  mother ;  and  you  hear 
the  glorious  trio  to  which  the  whole  opera  has  advanced, 
the  triumph  of  the  soul  over  matter,  the  victory  of  the 
spirit  of  Good  over  the  spirit  of  Evil.  The  songs  of 
faith  silence  the  songs  of  hell ;  joy  reappears  in  splen- 
dor. But  here  the  music  weakens  ;  I  see  a  cathedral 
only ;  I  do  not  hear  the  choir  of  happy  angels,  the 
divine  voices  of  souls  delivered,  giving  thanks  for  the 
union  of  Robert  and  Alice.  We  ought  not  to  be  left 
under  the  gloom  of  the  Satanic  spell ;  wre  should  leave 
the  scene  with  hope  at  heart.  I,  a  Catholic  musician, 
I  needed,  my  soul  demanded,  another  prayer  of  Moses. 
Also,  I  would  fain  have  seen  Germany  in  the  lists 
against  Italy ;  and  know  what  Meyerbeer  would  have 
done  to  rival  Rossini.  However,  the  author  may  say,  in 
justification  of  this  defect,  that  after  five  hours  of  such 
solid,  substantial  music  Parisians  prefer  a  decorative 
end  to  a  musical  masterpiece.  You  heard  the  accla-- 
mations   that  followed  the  piece ;    it  will  run  for 


Gambara. 


249 


five  hundred  nights.  If  Frenchmen  understand  this 
music  —  " 

44  They  understand  it  because  it  has  ideas,"  said  the 
count. 


i 


"  No;  only  because  it  powerfully  presents  an  image 
of  struggles  in  which  so  many  souls  are  worsted  ;  and 
because  all  individual  existences  are  fastened  to  it,  as 
it  were,  by  memory.  Therefore  it  is  that  I,  an  unhappy 
man,  grieve  that  I  do  not  hear  at  its  close  the  songs  of 
those  celestial  voices  I  have  long  heard  in  dreams." 

Here  Gambara  fell  into  ecstasy,  improvising  the  most 
melodious  and  harmonious  cavatina  that  Andrea  had 
ever  heard  ;  a  song  divine  divinely  sung ;  a  theme  of 
grace  qomparable  only  to  that  of  the  0  filii  et  JUics, 
and  full  of  charm  which  none  but  musical  genius  of  the 
highest  order  could  haye  given.  The  count  was  filled 
with  admiration  :  the  clouds  were  breaking ;  heaven's 
blue  shone  forth  ;  angelic  forms  appeared  and  raised 
the  veils  that  hid  the  sanctuary ;  the  light  of  heaven 
streamed  down  in  torrents.  Silence  soon  reigned.  The 
count,  surprised  to  hear  no  more,  looked  up  at  Gam- 
bara, who,  with  fixed  eyes  and  rigid  body,  stammered 
the  word  "God!"  The  count  awaited  the  moment 
when  the  composer  came  back  from  the  celestial  re- 
gions where  the  prismatic  wings  of  inspiration  bore 
him,  resolved  to  illumine  his  mind  with  the  light  which 
he  himself  brought  down. 

66  Well,"  he  said,  offering  more  wine,  and  touching 
glasses,  "  you  see  that  this  German  has  written,  as  you 
say,  a  sublime  opera  without  troubling  himself  about 


250 


Gambara. 


theory ;  whereas  musicians  who  study  the  grammar  of 
their  art  are  frequently,  like  literary  critics,  intolerable 
composers." 

44  Then  you  do  not  like  my  music?" 

u  I  do  not  say  that;  but  if,  instead  of  perpetually 
dissecting  how  to  express  ideas,  —  instead  of  driving 
musical  principles  to  an  extreme,  which  only  makes 
you  lose  your  way, — }'ou  would  simply  awaken  our 
sensations,  I  am  sure  you  would  be  better  understood, 
unless,  indeed,  you  have  not  mistaken  your  vocation. 
You  are  a  great  poet." 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Gambara,  44  are  twenty-five  years 
of  toilsome  study  wasted?  Must  I  learn  the  imperfect 
language  of  men,  —  I,  who  hold  the  key  to  the  Celestial 
Word  ?   Ah  !  if  you  are  right,  let  me  die  !  " 

"  You?  no,  no!  You  are  great  and  you  are  strong. 
You  shall  begin  another  life,  and  I,  your  friend,  will  sus- 
tain you.  Let  us  show  to  the  world  the  rare  and  noble 
union  of  an  artist  and  a  rich  man  who  understand  each 
other." 

44  Are  you  telling  me  the  truth?  "  said  Gambara,  rigid 
with  sudden  stupor. 

"  I  have  told  you  already,  }T>u  are  more  a  poet  than 
a  musician." 

44  Poet!  poet!  That  is  better  than  nothing.  Tell 
me  the  truth,  —  whom  do  you  value  most,  Mozart  or 
Homer?  " 

44 1  admire  them  equally." 

44  On  your  honor?  " 

44  On  my  honor." 


Gambara. 


251 


"  Hum  !  One  word  more.  What  think  3-011  of  Meyer- 
beer and  B3T011?  " 

"  By  naming  them  together  you  yourself  have  judged 
them/* 

The  count's  carriage  was  at  the  door ;  the  composer 
and  his  titled  physician  were  driven  to  Gambara's  resi- 
dence. Running  quickly  upstairs,  they  were  soon  in 
Marianna's  presence.  Gambara  threw  himself  into  the 
arms  of  his  wife,  who  drew  back  a  step  and  averted 
her  head.  The  husband  stepped  back  himself,  bent 
toward  the  count,  and  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  "You 
might,  at  least,  have  left  me  my  madness."  Then  he 
drooped  his  head  and  fell. 

"  What  have  you  done?  "  cried  Marianna,  casting  at 
the  body  a  look  in  which  pity  struggled  with  disgust. 
"  He  is  dead-drunk  !  " 

The  count,  with  the  help  of  his  valet,  raised  Gam- 
bara and  put  him  to  bed ;  then  Andrea  left  the  house, 
his  heart  full  of  horrid  joy. 

The  next  day  he  purposely  let  the  hour  of  his  daily 
visit  go  by  ;  he  was  beginning  to  fear  that  he  had  duped 
himself,  and  had  paid  too  dear  for  the  comfort  and  virtue 
of  that  humble  household  whose  peace  he  had  forever 
troubled. 

Giardini  presently  appeared,  bringing  a  note  from 
Marianna. 

"  Come,"  she  wrote,  "  the  harm  done  is  not  as  great 
as  you  desired,  cruel  man." 

"  Eccellenza,"  said  the  cook,  while  Andrea  dressed 
himself,  "you  entertained  us  magnificently  last  night. 


252 


Qambara. 


But  yon  must  allow  that,  apart  from  the  wines,  which 
were  excellent,  your  maitre-d'hotel  did  not  serve  a  single 
dish  worth}'  of  the  table  of  an  epicure.  You  won't  deny, 
I  suppose,  that  the  viands  placed  before  you  on  the  day 
when  you  did  me  the  honor  to  sit  at  my  table  were  super- 
latively better  than  those  that  sullied  your  magnificent 
silver  service  last  night.  Consequently,  when  I  awoke 
this  morning  I  bethought  me  of  your  promise  to  make 
me  chef.  I  look  upon  myself  now  as  attached  to  your 
household." 

u  The  same  thought  has  been  in  my  mind  for  the  last 
few  days,"  replied  Andrea.  " 1  have  mentioned  you  to 
the  secretary  of  the  Austrian  embassy,  and  you  will  be 
allowed  to  cross  the  Alps  without  danger  whenever  you 
like.  I  have  a  castle  in  Croatia  which  I  seldom  visit ; 
there  you  may  combine  the  functions  of  porter,  butler, 
cook,  and  steward  on  a  salary  of  six  hundred  francs  a 
year.  This  emolument  will  be  that  of  your  wife  also, 
who  will  do  the  rest  of  the  work.  You  can  try  3-our 
experiments  in  anima  vili,  —  that  is  to  say,  on  the 
stomachs  of  my  vassals.  Here 's  a  cheque  for  the  costs 
of  the  journey." 

Giardini  kissed  the  count's  hand  in  his  Neapolitan 
wa}T. 

"  Eccellenza,"  he  said,  "  I  accept  the  cheque  without 
accepting  the  situation.  It  would  be  dishonorable  in 
me  to  abandon  my  art  and  lose  the  good  opinion  of  the 
finest  epicures,  who  are  undoubtedly  those  of  Paris." 

When  Andrea  reached  Gambara's  apartment  the  com- 
poser rose  and  came  forward  to  meet  him. 


Gambara.  253 

"  My  generous  friend,"  he  said  frankly,  «  either  you 
took  advantage  of  the  weakness  of  my  head  to  play  a 
joke  on  me  last  night,  or  your  brain  is  no  stronger  than 
mire  when  tested  by  the  native  fumes  of  our  good  wines 
of  Latium.   I  choose  the  latter  supposition  ;  I  prefer  to 
doubt  your  stomach  rather  than  your  heart.    But  how- 
ever that  may  be,  I  renounce  forever  the  use  of  wine ; 
for  its  abuse  led  me  into  culpable  folly  last  evening 
When  I  think  that  I  degraded  -  "    (He  cast  a  look  of 
terror  at  Marianna.)  »  As  for  the  wretched  opera  winch 
you  took  me  to  hear,  I  have  thought  it  over:  it  is  noth- 
ing more  than  music  made  by  ordinary  methods  ;  heaps 
of  notes  piled  together,  verba  et  voces,  —  the  dregs  of 
that  nectar  which  I  quaff  in  deep  draughts  as  I  utter 
the  celestial  music  which  it  is  given  to  me  to  hear !  I 
know  the  origin  of  those  patched  up  phrases.  That 
'Glory  to  Providence'  is  too  like  Handel;  the  chorus 
of  knights  on  their  way  to  the  tournament  is  cousin- 
german  to  the  Scotch  air  given  in  the  '  Dame  Blanche.' 
In  short,  if  the  opera  pleases,  it  is  only  because  the 
music  derives  from  everywhere  and  is  therefore  popu- 
lar.   Now  I  must  leave  you,  my  dear  friend.    I  have 
had,  since  morning,  an  idea  in  my  head  which  bids  me 
rise  to  God  on  the  wings  of  music ;  but  I  wanted  to 
see  you,  and  say  this  much  to  you.    Adieu  !  I  go  to 
ask  pardon  of  my  guardian  muse.    We  will  dine  to- 
gether this  evening;  but  no  more  wine,  -  at  least,  not 
for  me.    Oh  !  I  am  quite  resolved." 

"  I  despair  of  him,"  said  Andrea,  coloring  high. 

"  You  enlighten  my  conscience,"  cried  Marianna,  "  I 


254 


Gambara. 


dared  not  question  it.  My  friend,  my  friend,  the  fault 
is  not  ours  ;  he  will  not  let  us  cure  him." 

Six  years  later,  in  January,  1837,  many  musical 
artists  who  were  unlucky  enough  to  injure  their  wind 
or  stringed  instruments  were  in  the  habit  of  bringing 
them  to  a  dilapidated  and  disreputable  house  in  the  rue 
Froidmanteau,  where  the  said  instruments  were  mended 
by  an  old  Italian,  named  Gambara,  living  on  the  fifth 
floor.  For  the  last  five  years  this  man  had  lived  alone, 
his  wife  having  abandoned  him.  An  instrument,  called 
by  him  a  panharmonicon  and  from  which  he  expected 
fame,  had  been  sold  by  the  sheriff  at  public  auction,  to- 
gether with  a  mass  of  music-paper  thickly  blotted  over. 
The  day  after  the  sale,  this  paper  appeared  in  the  mar- 
kets, around  pats  of  butter,  and  fish  and  fruit.  In  this 
way  three  operas  —  of  which  the  poor  man  talked  a 
great  deal,  though  a  former  Neapolitan  cook,  now  a 
seller  of  broken  victuals,  declared  they  were  a  heap  of 
rubbish  —  were  disseminated  through  Paris  in  the 
wicker  baskets  of  the  hucksters.  But  what  matter  for 
that?  the  owner  of  the  house  got  his  rent  and  the 
sheriff's  men  their  pay.  The  Neapolitan  victual-dealer, 
who  sold  to  the  prostitutes  of  the  rue  Froidmanteau  the 
scraps  remaining  from  the  fine  dinner-parties  given  in 
society  the  night  before,  was  always  ready  to  tell  how 
the  Signora  Gambara  had  followed  a  Milanese  noble- 
man to  Italy,  and  no  one  now  knew  what  had  become  of 
her.  Weary  of  poverty  and  wretchedness  she  was 
probably  ruining  that  count  by  her  extravagance,  for 


Gambara.  255 

they  adored  each  other  with  a  passion  that  in  all  his 
Neapolitan  experience  he  had  never  beheld. 

One  evening,  towards  the  end  of  this'same  month  of 
January,  as  Giardini,  the  victual-seller,  was  talking 
with  a  girl  wbo  came  to  buy  her  supper,  about  this  glo- 
rious Marianna,  so  pure,  so  beautiful,  so  nobly  self- 
devoted,  but  who,  nevertheless,  had  ended  like  "all  the 
rest,  the  girl  and  Giardini's  wife  noticed  in  the  street 
a  tall  thin  woman,  with  a  dusty,  blackened  face,  —  a 
perambulating,  galvanized  skeleton,  who  was  looking 
at  the  numbers  and  trying  to  find  a  house. 
" Ecco  la  Marianna!"  cried  Giardini. 
Marianna  recognized  the  poor  fellow,  without  giving 
heed  to  the  misfortunes  which  had  brought  him  clown  to 
his  present  miserable  trade.     She  entered  the  shop  and 
sat  down,  wearied  with  a  walk  from  Fontainebleau  ;  the 
poor  woman  had  come  forty  miles  that  day  and  had 
begged  her  bread  from  Turin  to  Paris.    The  sight  of 
her  horrified  that  miserable  trio.    Nothing  remained  of 
her  marvellous  beauty  but  a  pair  of  fading,  anguished 
eyes.    The  sole  thing  she  had  found  faithful  to  her  was 
misfortune.     She  was  heartily  welcomed  by  the  old 
mender  of  instruments,  who  saw  her  enter  his  room 
with  inexpressible  pleasure. 

"  Here  you  are,  my  poor  Marianna,"  he  said,  kindly. 
"  During  your  absence  they  sold  my  instrument  and  my 
operas." 

It  was  difficult  to  kill  the  fatted  calf  for  the  return  of 
the  wanderer ;  but  Giardini  contributed  some  scraps  of 
salmon,  the  street-girl  paid  for  the  wine,  Gambara  gave 


256 


Gambard. 


his  bread,  Signora  Giardini  laid  the  cloth,  and  these 
rnany  and  diverse  sorrows  supped  together  in  the  musi- 
cian's garret.  When  questioned  about  her  history  Ma- 
rianna  refused  to  answer,  but  she  raised  her  fine  eyes  to 
heaven,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Giardini :  — 
"  Married  to  a  danseuse" 

"  How  are  you  going  to  live,"  asked  the  girl ;  "  your 
tramp  from  Milan  has  killed  you  and  —  " 

" — made  me  an  old  woman,"  said  Marianna.  "No, 
it  is  not  fatigue,  not  poverty,  that  has  done  it,  but 
grief." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  the  girl,  "  why  did  n't  you  send  money 
to  your  man  here?  " 

Marianna  answered  only  with  a  look,  but  it  stabbed 
the  girl  to  the  heart. 

"Proud  indeed!"  she  exclaimed,  "excuse  me  — 
What  good  will  that  do  her?"  she  whispered  to 
Giardini. 

That  year  all  musicians  took  extraordinary  care  of 
their  instruments  and  the  business  of  repairing  them  did 
not  suffice  for  the  daily  bread  of  that  poor  home  ;  the 
wife  earned  little  by  her  needle,  and  the  pair  were  re- 
duced to  use  their  talents  in  the  lowest  of  all  spheres. 
Both  went  at  dusk  to  the  Champs  Elysees  and  sang 
duets,  w^hich  Gambara,  poor  soul,  accompanied  on  a 
wretched  guitar.  On  their  way  thither,  the  wife,  who 
on  these  occasions  covered  her  head  with  a  miserable 
muslin  veil,  took  her  husband  to  a  grocery  in  the  fau- 
,  bourg  Saint-Honore  and  gave  him  enough  brandy  to  in- 
toxicate him,  without  which  his  music  would,  have  been 


Gambara. 


257 


intolerable.  Then  they  took  their  stand  before  the  gay 
world  seated  on  chairs  along  the  promenade,  and  the 
greatest  genius  of  the  day,  the  unknown  Orpheus  of 
modern  music,  played  fragments  of  his  operas  to  the 
sitting  crowd,  and  these  samples  were  so  remarkable 
that  they  won  a  few  pennies  from  Parisian  indolence. 
One  day,  a  dilettante  of  the  BoufTons,  not  recognizing 
the  opera  from  which  these  pieces  were  taken,  ques- 
tioned the  woman  with  the  Grecian  head-dress  when  she 
held  out  the  round  metallic  plate  in  which  she  gathered 
alms. 

"  My  dear,  where  did  you  get  that  music?" 
"  From  the  opera  of  <  Mohammed,'  "  answered  Mari- 
anna. 

As  Rossini  had  composed  an  opera  called  "  Moham- 
med II."  the  gentleman  remarked  to  the  lady  who  was 
with  him,  "What  a  pity  that  they  will  not  give  us  at 
the  opera-house  those  works  of  Rossini  that  are  least 
known.    Certainly,  this  is  glorious  music." 

Gambara  smiled. 

A  few  days  ago  it  was  necessary  for  the  poor  couple 
to  pay  the  paltry  sum  of  thirty-six  francs,  the  rent  of 
their  miserable  garret.  The  grocer  would  give  no  credit 
for  the  brandy  with  which  the  wife  intoxicated  her 
husband  to  make  him  play  his  best.  Gambara's  music 
then  became  insufferable  ;  the  ears  of  the  rich  populace 
were  offended  and  the  metallic  plate  returned  empty.  It 
was  nine  in  the  evening  when  a  beautiful  Italian,  the 
Principessa  Massimilla  di  Varese,  took  pity  on  the  suf- 
fering pair.   She  gave  Marianna  forty  francs,  and  ques- 

17 


258  Gambara. 

tioned  both  when  she  discovered  from  the  wife's  thanks 
that  she  was  a  Venetian.  Prince  Emilio,  who  accom- 
panied his  wife,  asked  the  history  of  their  misfortunes, 
which  Marianna  related  without  complaint  of  man  or 
of  heaven. 

"  Madame,"  said  Gambara,  who  was  not  drunk,  "  we 
are  the  victims  of  our  own  superiority.  My  music  is 
beautiful ;  but  when  music  rises  from  sensation  to  idea, 
none  but  persons  of  genius  can  listen  to  it ;  for  they 
alone  have  the  power  to  draw  forth  its  meaning.  My 
misfortune  has  been  that  I  listened  to  the  songs  of 
angels  and  thought  that  men  could  understand  them. 
It  is  so  with  women  when  their  love  assumes  a  form  di- 
vine, —  men  no  longer  comprehend  them." 

Those  words  were  worth  the  forty  francs  Massimilla 
had  just  bestowed,  and  she  drew  another  gold  piece 
from  her  purse,  saying  as  she  gave  it  to  Marianna,  that 
she  should  write  to  Andrea  Marcosini. 

"Do  not  write  to  him,  madame,"  said  Marianna, 
"  and  ma}'  God  preserve  your  beauty." 

44  Let  us  take  care  of  them,"  said  the  princess  to  her 
husband  ;  u  this  man  has  remained  faithful  to  the  Ideal 
which  we  have  killed." 

When  Gambara  saw  the  gold  he  wept ;  then  there 
came  to  him  a  reminiscence  of  his  former  scientific 
labors,  and,  as  he  wiped  away  his  tears,  a  saying  which 
the  attendant  circumstances  rendered  piteous :  — 

"  Water  is  a  burned  substance." 


BALZAC  IN  ENGLISH. 


The  Magic  Skin. 

(LA  PEAU  DE  CHAGRIN.) 

TRANSLATED  BY 

KATHARINE   PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 


execution  ^T*  S?-n  li/8- *  grea-  noyel>-§reat  in  its  conception,  great  in  its 
t  u^  }  \u  f^at  ln  the  imPressjon  it  leaves  upon  the  reader's  mind  Those 
powe^Xl  Worv  "I0,  X  \  ^  ^  retra<?  ^  afte"  reading 

m ™ife  w  hill  I'  ,  f  Picturesque  representation  of  the  great  moral  truth  that 
"Ma^ic  Skfn  »  w.P  Y  Si  Gyery- eX,CfS?  WG  tuj°y-  In  the  §radual  drinking  of  the 
or  mfnd  w   ^  ^  meTltab]e  law  that  bY  uncontrolled  dissipation  of  body 

Z    "     f     -Q   P  CU\  Phys]cal  strength  and  exhaust  our  vitality.    In  that  beanti- 


know  ot  no  more  awful  allegory  in  literature. -BosTonTra^rift.  ""'^  "  ' 
satire and  sarcasm  whth  8  •  fhado?'.  and  Wlth  continual  flashes  of  wit, 


grin  »  Miss  Wormelev  Cm8       i    f  8  •  ry*   ln  trans]atinS  "  ^a  Peau  de  Cha- 

ful  of'ilf  rT9?  thouShtful  PTreface  is  a  fitting  introduction  to  the  most  wonder- 
thei?  nafu« ^  and  scone  '  thin  P  i   ''  toTf  £eir  significance,  and  to  define 

Peau °de Chasrri '  r'nmi  K  7-^  years  before  the  fuller  appreciation  of  "  La 
faUs>e^rme.3j>U^V^dy  «»£       which  will  Ee  studied  in  cen- 


^1.50. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

Boston. 


BALZAC  IN  ENGLISH. 


MODESTE  MlGNON. 

TRANSLATED  BY 

KATHARINE   PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 


In  "  Modeste  Mignon  "  we  still  have  that  masterly  power  of  analysis,  keen, 
incisive,  piercing  superficiality  and  pretence,  as  a  rapier  pierces  a  doublet,  but  we 
have  in  addition  the  puritv  and  sweetness  of  a  genuine  light  comedy,  —  a  comedy 
which  has  for  its  central  object  the  delineation  of  the  mysteries  of  a  young  girl's 
mind. 

As  a  whole,  "  Modeste  Mignon  "  is  not  only  a  masterpiece  of  French  art,  but 
a  masterpiece  of  that  master  before  whom  later  novelists  must  pale  their  ineffec- 
tual fires.  As  the  different  examples  of  Balzac's  skill  are  brought  before  the  pub- 
lic through  the  excellent  translations  by  Miss  Wormeley,  none  competent  to  judge 
can  fail  to  perceive  the  power  of  that  gigantic  intellect  which  projected  and  carried 
out  the  scheme  of  the  Comedie  Humaine,nor  fail  to  understand  the  improvement 
in  literature  that  would  result  if  Balzac's  methods  and  aims  were  carefully  studied 
by  all  who  aspire  to  the  name  of  novelist. — New  York  Home  Journal. 

The  public  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  industrious  translator  of  Balzac's 
masterpieces.  They  follow  one  another  with  sufficient  rapidity  to  stand  in  striking 
contrast  with  each  other.  The  conscientious  reader  of  them  cannot  but  lay  down  one 
after  another  with  an  increasing  admiration  for  their  author's  marvellous  grasp  upon 
the  great  social  forces  which  govern  the  thought  and  actions  of  men.  In  "  Modeste 
Mignon,"  as  in  "  Eugenie  Grandet,"  we  find  that  the  tremulous  vibrations  of  first 
love  in  the  heart  of  a  young  and  pure-minded  girl  are  not  deemed  unworthy  of  this 
great  artist's  study.  The  delicate  growth  of  a  sentiment  which  gradually  expanded 
into  a  passion,  and  which  was  absolutely  free  from  any  taint  of  sensuality,  is 
analyzed  in  "  Modeste  Mignon"  with  consummate  skill.  The  plot  of  this  book 
is  far  from  extraordinary.  It  is  even  commonplace.  But  where  in  these  days 
shall  we  find  another  author  who  can  out  of  such  a  simple  plot  make  a  story  like 
the  one  before  us?  The  many-sidedness  of  Balzac's  genius  is  widely  acknowl- 
edged ;  but  there  are  probably  few  people  among  those  whose  acquaintance  with 
his"5  writings  has  been  necessarily  limited  to  translations  who  could  conceive  of  him 
producing  such  a  bright  and  sparkling  story,  thoroughly  realistic,  full  of  vitalizing 
power,  keen  analysis,  and  depth  of  study  and  reflection,  brilliantly  imaginative, 
and  showing  an  elasticity  in  its  creative  process  which  cannot  fail  to  attract  every 
lover  of  a  higher  and  better  art  in  fiction. 

But  light  and  delicate  as  Balzac's  touch  generally  is  throughout  this  volume, 
there  is  also  shown  a  slumbering  force  which  occasionally  awakens  and  delivers  a 
blow  that  seems  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by  the  hammer  of  Thor.  He  ranges  over 
the  whole  scale  of  human  passion  and  emotion,  penetrates  into  the  very  inmost 
chambers  of  the  heart,  apprehends  its  movements,  and  lays  bare  its  weakness 
with  a  firm  and  yet  delicate  touch  of  his  scalpel.  The  book  has  been  excellently 
translated  by  Miss  Wormeley.  She  is  fully  in  sympathy  with  the  author,  and  has 
caught  his  spirit,  and  the  result  is  a  translation  which  preserves  the  full  flavor, 
vigor,  and  delicacy  of  the  original. 


One  handsome  \2mo  volwne,  uniform  with  "  P ere  Goriot,"  "  The 
Duchesse  de  Lan^eais,"  11  Cesar  Birotteau,"  "  Eugenie  Grandet," 
"Cousin  Pons,"  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "The  Two  Brothers ;"  and 
11  The  Alkahest."    Half  morocco,  French  style.    Price,  $1.5.0. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

Boston. 


Sam 

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